


This Body is My Prison

by JBankai89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Darkfic, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluffy Ending, Forced Feminization, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Forced Sex Swap, Healer Draco Malfoy, Henry VIII Complex, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Enslavement, Infanticide, Lactation, Lactation Kink, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Misogyny, Mpreg, Other, Partially canon-compliant, Pregnancy, Pregnancy complications, Rape, Sexism, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex, darkfic with a happy ending, sort of M/M/M, spousal abuse, voyeurism sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 49,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: Harry Potter is dead—or so the wizarding world believes. However, no one suspects that the consort of Voldemort, the Dark Lord and ruler of Wizarding Britain, who appears to be an apparent long-lost descendant of the Black line is not who she seems to be.Before Voldemort's intervention, and his twisted desires warped her, Cassiopeia Black was in fact--a he.Cassiopeia does not know if she is Harry Potter any more. After years of rape and abuse, as well as witnessing her husband murder his own daughters before her for daring to not bear him a son, she has become desperate, and seeks help from a most unlikely ally.





	1. Part I: The Lady

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My goal with this was to write the weirdest, most screwball darkfic I could think of. I tried really hard to keep everyone in character, except Harry, but I think the reasons why he deviates will be pretty obvious as the fic progresses. Italic segments are flashbacks. I like to think I failed spectacularly, as my penchant for happy endings got in the way of making it as messed up as I wanted. This is my first foray into Harrymort, so I hope I did this screwball ship justice ^.^
> 
>  
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING: This fic will contain graphic rape, extreme body modification/genderswap*, multiple infanticides**, manipulation, mind control, sexual assault, spousal abuse, emotional spousal abuse, sexism/misogyny, referenced character death, and enslavement(not of the kinky variety). Those are all the major ones. Of course, it's tagged, but sometimes people overlook tags, and considering the type of story this is, I think it bears repeating.**
> 
>  
> 
> ***= as in forced to become a girl, both physically and mentally.  
> **  
>  **= in case this is a term you have not heard before, I mean killing newborn babies.

This Body is My Prison

 

Part I: The Lady

 

“My Lord,” Bellatrix Lestrange purred reverently as she dropped to her knees as Lord Voldemort straightened up from his Apparition trip. Bellatrix did not look up at him as she kissed the hem of his robes, nor did she cast the person on his arm a glance.

She, like everyone else, knew better than to dare look at Lord Voldemort's consort directly without express permission.

“Stand, Bella,” he said smoothly, and she got to her feet, then stepped back with her eyes remaining downcast.

The other occupants of the house mirrored her—Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy all dropped to their knees in turn to kiss his robes, and did not stand again until they were instructed to do so.

 

Lord Voldemort, in the five years since his victory, had not changed at all.

Still tall and thin, pale, with a snakelike appearance, and red eyes. He was still as terrifying as ever, and now it was not just his followers that knew of his power, but all of Wizarding Britain.

“My bonded requires food,” Voldemort said, his voice cold, but smooth and soft, “in her delicate condition, you understand.” He chuckled, and the young girl on his arm shivered.

“Does the Lady desire something in particular?” Lucius asked timidly, “my—the house elves are quite proficient at many different cuisine styles.”

“My Lord, I'm all right,” she said softly, not looking at any of them, her green eyes downcast, one hand on her swollen belly. “I—I don't require anything.”

“Nonsense, Cassiopeia,” he said in the same tone, “you need to keep up your strength for my potential heir in your womb...assuming this time you _are_ bearing one.”

She brought a fair, artfully manicured hand to her mouth to stifle a small sob. The Dark Lord would not console her, but merely gain pleasure from her tears.

Especially back when the world had known her as _him._

When Cassiopeia Black, the long lost descendant of the Black line—had been known as Harry James Potter.

 

~*~

 

_Harry stepped into the forest, ready to die, his heart in his throat as he faced the end of Voldemort's wand._

_Except, the plan did not go off as Dumbledore or Snape had intended._

“ _Oh, Harry,” Voldemort said, his high voice threaded through with amusement, “what is that I see affixed to your mind?”_

 

_Harry froze._

 

_The Horcrux._

 

“ _You two,” Voldemort said, and jerked his head at the Carrows. “I need to secure young Harry, and I do not trust any of you fools to_ not _lose him again...”_

“ _W-what?” Harry asked, and scrambled back as Voldemort glided forward and closed a hand around the front of Harry's jumper._

“ _Oh, Harry, I have a_ much _better fate in mind for you...”_

_His horrified scream was lost in the_ crack _of Voldemort's Disapparition._

 

_~*~_

 

“Thank you,” Cassiopeia said without looking up as the curried carrot bisque was placed in front of her, “I appreciate your hospitality.”

“Oh please, my Lady, it is our pleasure,” Bellatrix gushed, though Cassiopeia did not miss the note of envy in the other woman's voice. “You carry a gift inside you—we are pleased to do what we can to aid in its growth.”

Voldemort smirked rested a hand on Cassiopeia's knee, and she shivered. Even with her eyes firmly fixed upon the shallow bowl before her, she could feel what her husband wanted, even before his hand slipped under the satin folds of her dress and dipped between her thighs. After so long being bound to him, she would be a fool to _not_ know.

 

~*~

 

“ _I will kill you, Harry Potter,” Voldemort purred as he flicked his wand at Harry, and he cried out as his arms flew above his head, were bound together with rope, then affixed to a meat hook protruding from the ceiling of the prison cell that they stood in. “But perhaps not in the way you think.”_

“ _What are on about?” Harry snarled as he struggled against the bindings, “want to draw out my death, you sick bast—” Voldemort flicked his wand at Harry, and his voice disappeared._

“ _The world will believe you to be dead,” Voldemort purred, “but why would I kill myself? Oh, no, no, no...I need to keep you close. You will live as long as I do, and I will not be parted from my dear Horcrux. But we_ must _do something about your shape. I am not overly fond of men, you see...”_

 

_~*~_

 

The loss of her manhood was still a painful memory.

Even after all this time, Cassiopeia had yet to grow completely used to her new body, the new curves, the new _urges_. She was not certain how much of it was natural, and how much of it was Voldemort's manipulations on her mind and body. Voldemort's hand between her thighs slid higher, and disappeared between her legs; she tensed, but forced herself to not pull away—Voldemort did not like it when she pulled away.

Cassiopeia ate her soup in silence, while Voldemort discussed with the others the ongoings in the wizarding world. Voldemort did not even change his expression as his long fingers slipped beneath her lace panties, and began to stroke her in lazy, but firm touches. Her breath caught, and her husband smirked.

“My Lord,” Lucius continued as though he had not noticed what was happening right in front of him, “the Mudblood Enslavement Program has been a resounding success. Those whom we have not chosen for experimentation to discover how they steal a wizard's magic have been dispersed amongst the pureblood families as servants, with their magic stripped from them and their wands snapped, of course.”

“Naturally,” Voldemort replied as he continued to finger Cassiopeia, and she struggled to not react to the intimate touches. “I understand you put out a special request for the mudblood you wished to have enslaved here?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Lucius confirmed, “with your leave, of course...”

 

~*~

 

“ _Where to begin?” Voldemort asked himself as he circled Harry's naked body. The implication behind Voldemort's words, and the absolute hopelessness of the situation had shattered what little fight he had left, and he allowed the tears to fall._

“ _Yes, your eyes...” Voldemort chuckled, “no little wife of mine will carry such an imperfection...”_

_Without warning, Voldemort flicked his wand at Harry, and his eyes burned. He opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound escaped him. A long-fingered, cold, spidery hand closed around his throat, and something in his throat ached, as though he had suddenly swallowed a porcupine._

_Another hand went to his hair, trailing through it with a terrifying gentleness, and he could feel the distinctive tingle in his scalp as the locks grew longer and longer._

“ _Yes, lovely,” Voldemort purred as Harry sniffled and hiccoughed, “now for your other attributes...”_

_Voldemort's hands moved to his jaw, then brushed over his shoulders, arms, and hands, then jumped down to his legs. Harry did not dare look to see what the monster was doing to him—he didn't want to see; he didn't want to know._

_Harry let out another soundless, anguished moan. His chest had begun to ache as a dual weight bore down on it, and his back twinged painfully from it. Cold hands trailed down his sides as he trembled, and more weight came to him, lower down this time, and he squirmed and struggled as Voldemort ran his hands over Harry's new, widened hips._

“ _Say goodbye to your cock, Harry,” Voldemort said, his voice so close to teasing that Harry felt as though he might be sick._

“ _No...” he tried to say, but his voice was still lost to him. The cold hand pressed his flaccid member against his belly, and incomprehensible pain flared in him._

_It was beyond anything Harry had ever felt in his life. His back muscles seemed to seize, the familiar weight between his legs disappeared, and he could all but_ feel _his insides rearranging themselves to make room for the new ones that Voldemort was adding._

_When it was all over, Voldemort was laughing, but it was not a warm sound. Two fingers dipped into his new vagina, and he immediately jerked away._

“ _My dear, what a sweet little pussy you have, you cannot walk around with such a thing and not expect your husband to wish to touch it, can you?”_

“ _Husband?” Harry sputtered soundlessly. His gaze snapped up to Voldemort, and the madman's mouth stretched into a smirk._

“ _Oh, yes,” he purred as his fingers dipped back between Harry's thighs. “And what a perfect little wife you will be,” he continued as he began to stroke Harry's clit, and Harry trembled, hating how the gentle touches were affecting him against his will. “You will be bound to me for eternity, the Lord and Lady of the wizarding world—the pureblooded wizarding world. The mudbloods, halfbloods, and blood traitors will be executed or enslaved, of course.”_

 

_Ron and Hermione's fates were sealed with that simple statement._

 

_In silence, she wept._

 

~*~

 

“...Yes, having Granger here would indeed be recompense for all the trouble she has caused your family. We shall kill the blood traitors—in front of her, I think—that would remind her of her place,” Voldemort mused, and he curled his finger inside of Cassiopeia at the same time, eliciting a soft gasp from her. She clamped her mouth shut, and did not look up. Cassiopeia refused to allow herself to respond to the sound of Hermione's name, or the reference to the Weasleys—that would be playing right into their hands.

“My Lady?” Narcissa prompted as Voldemort returned to idly stroking her, “are you quite all right?”

“F-fine,” Cassiopeia replied weakly, and she heard her husband chuckle. “J-just a little—er—kick, that's all.”

_Kick, indeed,_ she thought miserably.

 

~*~

 

“ _My dear, look at you,” Voldemort purred as he freed Harry's arms from their bindings and he almost immediately collapsed, had it not been for the fact that Voldemort immediately caught him. His skin crawled at the contact, but he was too drained to fight back. “Such a lovely specimen deserves a name that befits your dark beauty, my fair wife.”_

_Harry looked down as he struggled to ignore the cutting, demeaning words._

_Big mistake._

_His body was completely changed, and he did not recognize it at all._

_Glossy black hair fell in waves down to her—his, he reminded himself—waist, which was pinched and hourglass shaped, with a heaving bosom that was clearly (likely deliberately) too large for her frame, and descending down further she saw her hips and arse were wide and rounded—child-bearing hips. Any body hair she had had was gone, and even body hair that would have been normal for a woman of her age was nowhere to be seen, and instead she was completely smooth._

_Her bottom lip quivered as she wrenched her gaze away, and she heard Voldemort chuckle again._

“ _You do not appreciate my hard work?” Voldemort asked, and punctuated the word_ hard _by pressing his obvious erection against her arse._

“ _No, please...”_

_Harry started slightly, because Voldemort had clearly taken the silencing charm off, and now her voice escaped her in a high, feminine lilt._

“ _Oh, yes, my dear...” Voldemort said with a high, cruel laugh. “Harry Potter is dead, and you, my dear Cassiopeia...are mine.”_

 

_~*~_

 

Cassiopeia returned home sticky and uncomfortable.

She refused to show Voldemort just how deeply his ministrations had affected her, but as she hobbled to the toilet, one hand resting over her swollen belly, she did not get very far before the Dark Lord's arms wrapped around her from behind, and frightened tears came unbidden to her eyes.

“M-my Lord, please,” she pleaded as the floodgates broke and the tears dripped from her chin and onto his white hands. “I—I—”

“Now, now, my dear,” he cooed in that sickly sweet tone of voice that made her stomach roil, “you are bound to me, I am your husband. You don't need to think, my dear, I do that for you. You do not protest, I tell you what to do and when to do it. Isn't it so much easier when I think for you?”

Her mind clouded at his words, and she shook her head, but it did not clear. _Yes,_ she thought hazily, _my life is not pleasant, but easier when he...wait, no,_ she shook her head again, and took a trembling breath. _I can't let him win, not like this..._

As her husband spoke, and she tried to force out his manipulations on her thoughts, his hand trailed down her front, over her swollen belly, and under hem of her dress. The folds of green satin pooled at Voldemort's wrist as he pushed aside her sodden panties and plunged two fingers into her, and she bit down on her bottom lip to stifle a cry.

“Come now, my dear,” Voldemort cooed as he began to thrust the two fingers in and out of her roughly, “take off that lovely dress of yours and open yourself to me. I know that you crave my seed...so much like the whore that I made of you.”

_I'm not a whore,_ she thought, but knew better than to voice the protest. Her breathing had become more ragged as she jerked against his fingers unwillingly, her body, once more, betraying her completely. Ignoring her internal protests, knowing doing so would not impede Voldemort in any way, she lifted her trembling hands to the catch at the nape of her neck, and the satin pooled at her feet, encased in the matching pumps that she wore.

Cassiopeia felt Voldemort's mouth twitch into a smirk against the back of her neck as he drove the fingers in deeper.

“Good girl.”

 

~*~

 

_Harry found himself shivering and wobbling in a pair of expensive white high heels, and wearing a tight, uncomfortable matching dress that showed off all the 'assets' that Voldemort had added to his body._

_The neckline was deep and embroidered with glittering, silver patterns. The corset pushed up her—Harry shook the pronoun from his mind—_ his _breasts, and pinched at the waist, clinging to his shapely bottom before tumbling down his legs in a sea of white silk. His hair had been immaculately styled by Narcissa, and white pearls had been pinned and woven through the curls._

 

_He looked nothing like himself._

 

_Harry Potter no longer existed._

 

_His reflection showed a very pretty girl, without a shred of masculinity to his appearance._

_Even his famous scar was gone, hidden beneath a powerful glamour so that none but Voldemort himself could break it and divulge his true identity._

_All that remained of Harry was Lily's eyes, which Voldemort had for some reason chosen to keep._

 

_The sight made him sick._

 

“ _My dear,” Voldemort purred as he pulled him close, and pressed a kiss to Harry's plumped, effeminate lips. “Wasn't that a lovely ceremony? The remaining Black lines passing over the last Black daughter proudly to their Lord. Why, I can't recall when your..._ Cousins _looked happier.”_

“ _Get off me,” he snarled, and tried to squirm out of the powerful grip, but he wobbled in the high heels, and did not get very far before Voldemort was on him again._

“ _Now, now,” he said, holding Harry tightly against him, “is that any way to speak to your husband? I own you, my dear. You are mine, until death do us part,” Voldemort paused and smirked, “and since I cannot die, you will be mine...forever.”_

“ _I'm not yours, I'll never_ be _yours,” Harry hissed, his voice cracking as a lump formed in this throat, and he bit back a frustrated curse. Ever since Voldemort's extreme change upon his body, tears came to him much more easily—and he_ hated _it. “I don't care what you do to me, I won't—ahh!” She cried out in fright as Voldemort shoved Harry hard, she staggered back, and tumbled onto the wedding bed._

_Voldemort stripped off her dress robes without any change to his expression, and Harry felt her panties dampen._

_Harry shook his head violently._ His _._

 

_What was_ happening?

 

“ _Do you feel it, my dear?” Voldemort asked as he crawled, naked, on top of his young bride. He closed a hand around her throat and forced her back onto the bed. “That niggling, gentle nudging of your mind forcing you to accept your new self? As my wife, my consort, the future mother of my heirs...”_

 

_Mother._

 

_The word stirred in Harry a strange sensation, a warmth in her belly, and a sudden burning_ need— _for what, she wasn't certain. A feeble moan escaped past her lips before she could stop it._

 

“ _No...”_

 

“ _Yes, exactly, my dear,” Voldemort said, one hand still at her throat while the other dug under the front of her dress, and grabbed roughly at her breasts, eliciting another pained whimper from her. “You feel it, I know that you do. That need, that burning need to be filled with my semen, to swell with my child, that desperate desire—to be pregnant.”_

“ _No,” she repeated, but the word sounded less and less convincing in her own ears the more that she repeated it._

_Voldemort ignored her as he took his wand out, and she tensed. He pointed it at her, and a soft gasp escaped her as quite suddenly, she was naked. Voldemort's free hand immediately forced its way between her legs, pinched her clit, and she yelped in both pleasure and pain._

“ _You are mine,” he whispered, “_ mine _. And I will fill you, oh, yes, and you will give me a son, an_ heir _, or you will deeply regret it, my sweet...”_

_And regret it she did._

 

~*~

 

Cassiopeia stepped out of the painful shoes and fell back onto their bed. She stared blankly at the ceiling as her husband climbed on top of her, and grimaced as his painfully large, hardened member slipped into her.

Tears streaked her cheeks as her once-enemy pounded into her, grunting ever so softly as he took his pleasure, his hands grabbing roughly at her chest, hard enough to bruise, and after ten painful minutes his body stilled, and she felt his release fill her.

Without showing weakness in his fatigue, and rolled off of her, the drew her close, pinning her to his side as he fell asleep.

Cassiopeia stayed awake a while longer, her fair, dainty hands brushing over her distended stomach in a soft caress.

_Please_ , she thought, sending the prayer out to any deity that might hear her, _please, please let it be a boy, I couldn't bear another girl..._

“Please...” she whispered softly, and the Dark Lord's arm tightened around her.

The fluttering movement of a true baby kick followed her words, and her hands moved to her stomach again. She held it, and her prayer repeated over and over in her mind until she fell into a despairing sleep.

 

~*~

 

“ _I have news for you, my sweet,” Voldemort said as he drew Harry to him, one hand splayed against her stomach, the other dipping down farther to roughly finger her sore, aching vagina. She whimpered, but did not speak. “I called on our resident healer while you slept, and we're to be parents in a mere nine months.”_

_The news made Harry feel sick, and she bowed her head, but it did little to calm her weighted misery. To look down she was once more confronted with her new body, currently forced into tight, revealing robes, and no undergarments—at her husband's request._

“ _Of course, if you do not produce a male heir for me...” Voldemort continued, and dug his fingers in deeper, causing her to whimper, “I do believe I said something about you regretting it?”_

“ _I can't exactly_ control _these things,” she sniped, and her husband chortled softly._

“ _Oh, my dear Cassiopeia,” Voldemort purred, and Harry winced at the new name she had been given. It sounded so..._ wrong. _“It is gestating in your body, and of my seed. I have offered the masculine aspect. If you do not...deliver...as they say, we'll just have to try again, now won't we?”_

_The threat that hung over her was terrifying, and a soft, frightened whimper slipped past her lips before she could stop it._

“ _Now, I believe we should celebrate this happy news properly,” Voldemort continued, “get on your knees.”_

_She slid down into position obediently, her form trembling as her husband opened the front of his robes and his hardened, thick cock bounced mere millimetres from her face, a pearly drop of precome clinging to its tip. It had to be magically enlarged—it just_ had _to be; of that she was certain. No normal cock was so_ big.

“ _Do I need to tell you how to suck cock, my dear?” Voldemort asked, his tone almost teasing, which was deeply unsettling. “Open your mouth, my pretty little wife, cover your teeth and hold your breath.”_

_That was all the warning she was given before Voldemort was pressing his enormous cock head against her lips, painting them with the clear liquid, and with tears once more coming to her eyes, she opened her mouth and did as she was told._

 

_~*~_

 

“Mistress Cassiopeia is to get up!” a little voice squeaked, and she groaned as she woke alone in bed, which was a small mercy, though if the way she ached was any indication, her _husband_ may have taken advantage of her in sleep—again.

She sat up and the thin blanket pooled at her hips, though she was completely unbothered by her nudity in the presence of the little creature. After so long, it was no longer a source of embarrassment.

“The Dark Lord has instructed Grendel to help you dress, then you is to join him in the infirmary.”

“Did he say what he wanted?” she asked while she rubbed her eyes one-handed, and the other instinctively moved to rest on her swollen belly.

“He is wishing to have the healers check to see if you and your baby is healthy!” Grendel chirped, and she groaned. Of course.

 

The little creature bathed her, dried her, and sat her down in a towel before a mirror, where he styled her hair and did her makeup how her husband liked—her hair pulled back from her face, half of it piled high on her head, half a dozen pins with small diamonds affixed to the ends keeping it all in place, and the rest of her hair fell down her back in a glossy wave. Her makeup was simple foundation, deep red lips, and winged eyeliner with a green eye shadow that matched Lily's irises.

The elf then helped her into one of her 'maternity dresses'. They were still as revealing and uncomfortable as all her other ones she had been forced into over the years, but was blessedly devoid of the painful corsets that her husband liked her to wear, at least.

The black silk clung to her form, the deep neckline showed off her chest much more than she had ever been comfortable with, and there was a deep slit in the gown that stopped mere inches from the top of her thigh, meaning that she needed to walk slowly, or she risked showing off her most private parts to any who happened to be nearby. Once more, she was not offered any undergarments to wear.

Cassiopeia slipped her slightly swollen feet into the pair of heels that had been left for her, and with her head held high, she strode down the halls of the vast manor and down to the personal infirmary that she had been bound to more times than she could count over the years. It had never been a place that she associated with any form of joy

 

~*~

 

“ _A girl,” Voldemort sneered, and Cassiopeia tightened her hold on the tiny newborn. “You birthed me a_ girl, _” he repeated as the Healer nervously backed away, but the Dark Lord did not notice, his entire focus being on his consort._

“ _It's not my fault,” she protested, and winced at the frightened tone of her voice. The baby gurgled softly when she clutched to her even more firmly._

“ _You gave birth to a girl,” Voldemort said simply, “how is it_ not _your fault?” he demanded while he advanced on her again, and she shrunk back a little, but in her weakened state, she was bound to the bed, and thus could not go far. “I warned you that you would regret doing such a thing, did I not? And yet you throw my hospitality back in my face.” He spat the last word as he stopped before her, and she whimpered as an icy, spidery hand closed over her throat._

“ _A woman's place is to obey her husband,” he hissed, “and now you will find out what happens when a woman chooses to_ dis _obey...”_

_His hand tensed for a moment, and she braced herself for pain, but instead he released her, and snatched the babe from her arms._

“ _No,_ no _! My Lord, please, what are you doing?” she cried as she watched Voldemort hold her child aloft by the ankle and pointed his wand at it._

“ _If at first you don't succeed,” Voldemort began over her child's cries, “I'll kill her, and we'll try again.” Cassiopeia felt as though she might be sick._

“ _NO!” she shrieked, but her husband ignored her cries, and the tears that came to her eyes._

 

“Avada Kedavra.”

 

~*~

 

Five girls in five years.

Five little graves in the back garden—the one small mercy that her husband had allowed her.

Some sort of healing charm had enabled Voldemort to impregnate her within hours of giving birth, and as a result, she had been in a state of near-constant pregnancy ever since. The sixth one weighed heavily on her, a result of the strain it put on her body, not that the Dark Lord cared how much or little she suffered because of it. Trapped like this, she had never before felt so helpless, so completely incapable of protecting her own children. Would the fate of _this_ child be the same as all the others before it?

It mattered little to her that the father was Voldemort—she had stopped caring about that a long time ago—it was still _her_ child.

Cassiopeia's hands tensed over the swell of her stomach as she stepped into the infirmary, dressed up less like she was going to see a Healer, and more like she was going to a ball. But that did not matter; her husband always wanted her done up; she was never to look less than this.

“Ah, my fair wife,” Voldemort said as he swept toward her, and pressed a hand to her belly as he dragged her in for a rough kiss in greeting, and she forced herself to return it. “Come, it is time for the Healer to check on the health of my child that grows in you.”

Her eyes downcast, Cassiopeia followed Voldemort's lead farther into the infirmary, but started slightly when she caught sight of not one Healer waiting for them, but two.

And the second one she recognized at once—that pointed face and platinum blond hair she would recognize anywhere.

“I beg your pardon, my Lord and Lady,” the Healer next to Malfoy said, “but young Mister Malfoy is to complete his Healer Training with me, would you feel uncomfortable with his presence while I examine you?”

Voldemort went very rigid next to her, and his arm tensed around Cassiopeia's waist in a possessive hold. Malfoy kept his head respectfully bowed, and none spoke as Voldemort worked the request over in his mind.

“That would be fine,” he said at last, “provided he conducts himself _appropriately._ ” He shoved Cassiopeia forward slightly, and she stumbled in her heels, but thankfully remained standing.

“Come, my Lady,” her usual Healer said, lifting an arm to guide her to the examination bed, but not daring to physically touch her, “this will not take long. Mr Malfoy, with me, if you please.”

Malfoy snapped up and obediently followed the elder Healer as Cassiopeia lay down on the bed and took a few breaths to calm herself. After being witness to so many deaths in this room, it was difficult to stay in here and remain calm.

“Malfoy, please check her vitals while I prepare the salve,” the Healer ordered, and Malfoy circled the bed to stand at her side, and began to flick his wand here and there over her body. He eyed her curiously, apparently picking up on her nervousness.

“Are you scared, my Lady?” he asked softly.

 

Looking back on it, Cassiopeia did not know what possessed her to say it.

 

An opportunity— _the_ opportunity presented itself to covertly cry for help, and though she doubted _Draco Malfoy_ of all people would be willing to help her, after five years in the Dark Lord's bed, she _had_ to do something, if nothing else, to protect her unborn child.

Her voice dropped into a lower, even octave, still nothing close to the sound of her old voice, but she saw that the words registered with the Malfoy heir immediately.

 

“You wish.”

 

He dropped his wand.

 


	2. Part II: Truth

Part II: Truth

 

Cassiopeia did not know what she had expected when she let her formal rival in on her true identity, but aside from looking at her with a guarded, wide-eyed shock, he acted no differently as he conducted his diagnostic charms, then relinquished his place to his superior. There was a distinct, alarmed look in his eyes, as though he was wondering if this was some sort of elaborate scheme to test his fealty to the Dark Lord, and she prayed that he did not latch on too firmly to that belief.

Healer Rook stepped up and down the length of her body like Malfoy had, casting a number of spells to check on the general health of her and her child, but did not cast the Birth-Image Charm, a tricky little spell that worked much like an ultrasound did in the muggle world. However, The Dark Lord would not allow it. In a strange way, Cassiopeia was almost grateful—if she couldn't see her child before they were born, it was marginally less painful when her husband ripped the minutes-old babe from her arms. It was still agonizing, but somewhat less so because of that. To this day, Cassiopeia was uncertain whether this was yet another method of torture, or a small mercy.

 

“Well, everything looks good,” the Healer said, “both mother and child are perfectly healthy. Are you quite certain that you would not like to know the sex of the child, my Lord?”

“You know that I enjoy to be surprised, Healer Rook,” Voldemort said smoothly, “it is only a few more weeks at most until we know if my fair wife has finally succeeded in bearing me an heir or not.”

As he spoke, Voldemort's hand had unabashedly slipped under Cassiopeia's dress, in full view of the two Healers, uncaring that they were still present as he began to tease her slit, and she swallowed a soft whimper. This action, she noticed, brought a fleeting look of abject horror to Malfoy's face, but it was gone so quickly that she wondered if she may have imagined it. She bit her lip to keep herself quiet as her husband's fingers began to roughly handle her.

“Yes, my Lord, of course,” the elder Healer said shakily as he bowed his head a little, and took a small step back. “I'll just—”

“—and where might you be going, Healer Rook?” Voldemort asked lightly while his fingers continued their rough assault upon Cassiopeia's body.

“I...I...”

“I have not dismissed you,” Voldemort said, and though Cassiopeia was not looking up, she could hear the amused smirk in her husband's voice. He dug his fingers deeper into her, and she whimpered while she struggled to not let his intimate touch affect her—to no avail. Voldemort had always been quite adept at leaching all manner of pleasures from her, no matter how unwanted the touches always were. “You will not move until you are properly dismissed; where are your manners?”

“I—I'm sorry, my Lord,” the Healer stammered, and out of the corner of her eye, Cassiopeia could see that the Healer's face was flushed with embarrassment as he tried to not look upon the whimpering, squirming young woman on the cot. “I acted in haste.”

“See that it doesn't happen again,” Voldemort said, his tone returning to its usual smooth tone, just as he pinched Cassiopeia's clit, eliciting a soft squeak from her. She trembled and dug her nails into the thin white sheets, humiliated as Malfoy and Healer Rook looked on. His fingers moved faster, though his expression did not change as her breath became steadily more ragged, and her husband did not stop his ministrations until he had forced an orgasm from her, and with it tears streaked her cheeks. She moved to bury her face in her hands, but Voldemort caught her wrist before she was able to do so.

“You see how you ache for me, my dear?” He purred while he showed her his shining, damp fingers as evidence, and her cheeks burned again with shame. “Without me, you are nothing; without me, you are merely pretty wrappings around a shell; without me, you will never be satisfied. I'll see you tonight.”

With the threat of another rape hanging over her head, Voldemort released her wrist, and she succeeded in burying her face in her hands. Uncaring if her former rival was still watching her or not, she opened the floodgates, and wept. Her husband turned and left, not even glancing back at her as she sat there, her entire form trembling as she cried.

“Draco,” the Healer said shakily in a moment of unprofessional familiarity, “keep the Lady company, if you please. I will have a house elf bring a calming tisane for her.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco replied, and his tone made it clear that he was just as unnerved as his superior was, but Cassiopeia did not bother to look up as she fought to calm herself and staunch the flow of tears. Usually, crying like this made her feel better, but with the knowledge at what was coming, it was difficult to feel anywhere in the realm of _better._

 

The soft sound of one set of footsteps retreating filled the silence, and it was closely followed by the scrape of a chair across the ceramic tiles of the floor.

“Potter?” Draco's voice whispered suddenly, softly, “is it really you?”

Cassiopeia looked up, still sniffling a little, and she was startled to see the Malfoy heir holding out a cloth handkerchief to her. She accepted it with a nod of thanks, and mopped the tears from her cheeks.

“The walls have ears,” she warned, her voice barely above a whisper; her voice broke, and another tear streaked her cheek as his question registered in her mind. “I may have been him once, but I don't know _who_ I am anymore...except the Dark Lord's whore, I suppose.”

She looked up at her once-rival, and she did not miss the way his eyes raked over her body, his gaze was uncertain and frightened, but the attraction that she saw there made her uneasy. Could she really trust him? If by some fluke this ended with her alive, would he expect her to—

Cassiopeia shook her head; she didn't want to think about it.

“My family have covertly done their part to conserve the... _old ways_ ,” Malfoy said, ignoring her jibe at herself while he raised his eyebrows in an obvious hint—clearly, he did not mean old pureblood customs. “We have eleven people under our...employ, so to speak, at the manor at present...nine gingers, a pretty blonde, and a brunette.”

Had she been standing, Cassiopeia was quite certain that she would have fallen over from shock.

“I—but, why? I—I thought the Dark Lord was going to have them...” she trailed off as her throat tightened. She couldn't say it—merely thinking of the Weasleys being murdered was enough to make her feel sick at heart.

“My father intervened and insisted that we needed them to attend to the various menial tasks that our house elves could not attend to,” Malfoy replied simply. “We respect the old ways, Pott—my Lady. More now than we did back then. We wish to see them again someday, but there is only so much we can do without certain relatives cluing in on our schemes.”

Cassiopeia did not need to be a genius to work out that Malfoy meant Bellatrix. She nodded her head once.

At the same time, she could all but hear the _what can I do?_ in his voice. She knew that there was every possibility that he was bluffing, and that she might pay dearly for her trust in him, but what choice did she have? She had no friends, no allies—no one to confide in. Malfoy was really and truly her only hope. Not for the first time, she prayed that she wasn't making a huge mistake in trusting him. The fact that they were helping _the Weasleys,_ of all people, was more than a little perplexing.

“Why do you even care? Why would you save them?” She asked, and Malfoy's open expression shifted to a familiar glare, with his lip curled in a sneer. It took him a moment to calm down enough to actually answer her question.

“We have our reasons. If we all get out of this alive... _maybe_ I'll tell you.”

Cassiopeia could not help it—she rolled her eyes. She should have expected such a response from someone like Malfoy.

“ _That_ night,” she began, her voice hinting clearly that she meant the Battle of Hogwarts, “I was shown certain...truths. Memories of...” she trailed off and bit her lip. How did she tell Malfoy without risking someone overhearing them? “A man who cared deeply for you, who wanted to do all he could to help you, but you may have misinterpreted it as his bid to steal your...erm, glory.” Cassiopeia paused again, and Malfoy nodded to indicate that he understood what she was getting at. “His memories. What is contained in them needs to be fulfilled. After...” she placed a hand on her stomach, “after my child is born, regardless if they live to see their second day, I need to you help me finish the task that was...set.”

 

_Draco Malfoy, I need you to kill me._

 

“I will see to it, my...Lady,” Malfoy said just as softly, “what of this task? What will it accomplish?”

“It is the last tether that holds _him_ to the earth,” she said, and twitched her head in the general direction of the infirmary doors. “If it is completed, he can be killed.” Cassiopeia threw caution into the wind with her last statement, and held her breath as she watched the young man's eyes widen in understanding at what she was saying.

“I may have failed in my tasks in the past,” he began, his voice soft and uncertain, but filled with reassurance as he spoke, “but in this, I will not fail.”

“If you need help, seek out your servants,” she said, and arched a brow to hint that she meant Ron and Hermione. Malfoy nodded, and she continued, “tell them...tell them, ' _Polyjuice Potion brewed in the girls' lavatory works best without cat hair_.'”

Malfoy stared, his expression shifting from anguish and hope to complete confusion. He shook his head once, and nodded.

 

“It will be done.”

 

~*~

 

Cassiopeia passed the remainder of her day alone.

Voldemort was a possessive and jealous man—if, after everything, he could even be _called_ a man—and her only agemate nearby was Draco Malfoy. Unfortunately, she could not associate him under normal circumstances; her husband seemed to be certain that he would touch her 'inappropriately' if they were left alone together, and thus she rarely saw him, save for the few times he had dragged her along to the Malfoy Manor to show her off, or torment her, depending on the day. The incident in the infirmary had been a wild fluke, and after she had been discharged, her ever-present loneliness set in quickly. In the small moment with Malfoy, she had quite forgotten that she would spend the rest of her day alone with nothing to keep her company but her toxic, nervous thoughts.

 

~*~

 

“ _I am all that you will ever can be, my dear,” Voldemort purred, and Cassiopeia let out a soft whimper. She stood naked before a long, full-body mirror, while her husband stood at her back, one hand on her hip, and the other forcibly buried in her vagina. Her arousal trickled down his wrist as he rotated the appendage within her, and she squirmed in pain and unwanted pleasure. She turned her gaze away from both the shameful image and the sight of her distended, pregnant stomach, and in an instant Voldemort's hand moved to grasp her jaw, and forced her to gaze back at it._

“ _Look at yourself,” he hissed, “the great Harry Potter, reduced to my precious little whore. My fearsome, adolescent enemy, for all intents and purposes dead, and in his place a lovely, wonderfully fertile young woman who_ needs _my seed, who_ craves _it...”_

“ _No,” she whimpered as a solitary tear streaked her cheek, and she whined as he moved his hand again. “No...I can't, I—I won't...”_

“ _It's too late,” Voldemort purred, and slowly, gently, he removed his hand, and held it up in front of her, show her the pleasure he had bestowed upon her. “You_ need _me.”_

_Without another word, he thrust inside her, and she stared blankly at the image of him raping her, while his high, cruel laugh filled the room and masked the sound of the wet slaps that brought her to another unwanted orgasm._

 

~*~

 

The memory brought with it another wave of misery, and her arms locked around her swollen belly as she walked the halls of the manor—her prison. The worst part was, when Voldemort denied her (which was rare to begin with) she _did_ desire him. She knew that it was some sort of charm or curse upon her mind that he had placed there, but it did not change the fact that if she went a period of time without his touch, be it through penetrative sex, oral sex, or something else, she began to crave it.

And she _hated_ it.

Worse still, even after the little show he'd forced her into in the infirmary, the promise of that night's activities had stirred her into a state of near-arousal. The thought of him splitting her open with his monster of an erection dampened her innermost thighs, and she swore the smell of it had begun to permeate the air around her like a perfume.

Horrified and ashamed, she slipped into the library in the hope that she might find some peace before her impending rape that evening.

 

The day passed by faster than she would have liked, and she only began to make for the bedroom when she had blown past exhaustion entirely, and could barely stay standing as she headed up to the room she shared with her husband. With every step, the arousal that had been with her all day became more acute, and she shuddered as another wave of shame engulfed her.

_This isn't me, this is his doing,_ she thought miserably, _but one way or another, he'll force my body to enjoy it..._

When she at last stepped inside the bedroom, Voldemort was nowhere to be seen.

This was a brief reprieve, she knew that, but she embraced it all the same as she wiped off her makeup and washed her face, then brushed her teeth before she slipped back into the bedroom and reluctantly peeled off the uncomfortable dress—she had never once been offered the luxury of pyjamas during her time at Voldemort's side, and she hated how exposed she felt in sleeping naked.

“My fair wife, _there_ you are,” a sudden cold voice spoke from the doorway, and she whirled around, her eyes wide as she saw Voldemort slip into the room. “And ready for me, I see,” he purred, while he fixed his gaze on her naked body, in particular, her dampened crotch. She wrapped her arms uselessly around her chest and crossed her legs, but Voldemort completely ignored her attempt at maintaining what little dignity she had left. He swept forward and forced her arms out of the way as he grabbing her breast in his left hand, while he knocked her legs apart and the fingers of his right immediately dove between her thighs.

As with every other time Voldemort had done this, he was not gentle. He pinched, groped, and twisted, he used his fingers roughly, but with well-practised touches that earned him a bodily response, regardless that his wife's mind still resisted with all that she had. Tears streaked her cheeks, which he ignored, and he peeled off his own clothes as he stared down at his fair consort, his thick erection sending a thrill of terror and desire through her at the sight of it.

“The Healer has advised me that at this late stage, rough vaginal sex has its risks,” he said smoothly, while he continued to stroke her, and she felt as though she might be sick. The wicked gleam in Voldemort's eye told her exactly where he planned to seek his pleasure from without him having to say it, and she felt her stomach somersault with both arousal and fear. Though she would never admit it, it was the kind of sex that her body reacted most favourably to—the kind she _liked_ the most. She didn't want to like it, and the prospect of an enjoyable sexual encounter with her enemy and husband in one was well beyond humiliating.

“No,” she whimpered, unable to stop the plea, despite the futility of the action, “my Lord, please, please, don't...”

Voldemort ignored her, and shoved her hard.

She fell back onto the dark bedspread, and her breath hitched with fright as she felt her husband's wand press against her anus, and tears once more sprung to her eyes.

Cleansing and Lubrication Charms rushed through her, and she whimpered, but did not move. She stared up at the ceiling silently, with tears beginning to streak her cheeks, and she struggled to swallow the soft moan of anticipation that had bubbled into her throat. She jerked her head to the side in a quick half-shake as she felt the enormous cock head brush her tight, unprepared opening.

_No,_ she thought viciously, _I'm not enjoying this, I_ won't _enjoy this..._

Voldemort pressed against her, and Cassiopeia forced herself to relax, otherwise, she knew, it would be incredibly painful.

At first, it felt like he was pressing against an expanse of skin, and not an entrance into her body. The taut muscle refused to give, when just as suddenly, the guardian muscles bowed to Voldemort's cock, and he shoved himself all the way in with one thrust.

Despite her best efforts, she let out a moan of both pain and pleasure. She felt so full—impossibly and well beyond full, and it felt almost more than a normal human body should be able to reasonably take.

The worst of it however, was how _good_ it felt.

Even without the presence of a prostate in her arse, when Voldemort began thrusting, it felt beyond good—and she _hated_ it.

Cassiopeia panted heavily as she stared past the body crushing into hers and up to the ceiling, while the tears continued to fall. The slick lubrication had eased his passage into her hole, but without preparation, it still hurt more than a little.

The pain, however, was secondary to the overwhelming shame she felt at how he so easily made her enjoy the sensation, no matter how much she did not want to.

Pleasure radiated through her as Voldemort continued his onslaught upon her body, one hand at her hip and the other roughly playing with her clit. The ecstasy only he seemed able to bring out of her became all-consuming, and she was unable to focus on anything but the pleasure he was giving her. She did not even have enough presence of mind left in that moment to realize that she was moaning, and meeting his thrusts with her own movements.

Her halting, unwilling cries choked their way out of her throat as she clenched around the cock in her arse, and with a soft grunt he filled her with his seed.

She came down from the orgasmic high slowly, while her husband cleaned himself up, but did not offer her the same courtesy. He slipped under the covers and drew her close in a possessive hold, and she felt her despairing anguish and shame return as the semen leaked from her abused hole and dried against the back of her thighs.

_Please Malfoy,_ she thought miserably as she lay there, _please don't fail me._

 

_~*~_

 

The next time that Cassiopeia saw Malfoy she knew that he had done as she had asked. She rested a hand upon the swell of her stomach as he helped the Healer with checking her over, while he regarded her with a look of deepest betrayal. However, intertwined with it was a look of resignation—Malfoy seemed to understand that it had to be done, no matter what his own feelings on the issue were.

“If this fails,” Malfoy muttered softly when Healer Rook stepped out of the room, “you understand that you'll be leaving your only child to be raised by the Dark Lord.”

“Assuming my fair husband allows them to live,” she hissed back acidly, and Malfoy winced. “I know that when this is all over, Ron and Hermione will adopt my child—they will be taken care of. I trust them with my life.” The fact that she had not voiced trust in him showed in his eyes, and he regarded her with a look of hurt, but at the same time, he seemed to understand why she had not extended him anything that might resemble genuine trust. Their alliance was too new, too tenuous to risk such blind faith—not yet.

“For their sake,” Malfoy muttered, “I hope that you know what you're doing...Potter.”

 


	3. Part III: Impending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Possible Trigger Warning/Squick: Since this is one of the few fics im writing and posting simultaneously, and sometimes untagged things pop up. There will be a detailed lactation kink scene about halfway/two-thirds of the way through this chapter, so keep an eye out for that if it's not your thing. It's tagged now for future readers! :)

Part III: Impending

 

With each visit to the infirmary, Cassiopeia became more and more apprehensive about her new alliance with Malfoy.

It wasn't that he wasn't that he was unkind to her, or gave the impression that he was likely to inform Voldemort what they were up to—it was all in how he looked at her.

 

Desire.

 

The first few times, it had been closer to an innocent look of attraction. She wasn't stupid—she knew that she was very pretty, and downplaying her appearance was made rather difficult by the horribly revealing outfits that she was forced into. Paired Voldemort's most unpleasant habit of forcing her into sexual situations before an audience, and she couldn't completely blame Malfoy for his reaction.

That did not make it any less unsettling, however.

Following the moments where Voldemort felt the need to reassert his hold on her before the Healers, Malfoy would almost immediately mumble something about needed to use the loo, and would hurry off.

The strange stiffness in his walk made it quite clear just how affected he had been by the so-called _show._

Her subconscious took these memories and twisted them horribly, and her dreams were plagued by nightmarish scenarios wherein Voldemort had been defeated, and Malfoy would demand her body in recompense for his part in it. It seemed to matter little when she woke each morning when she reminded herself that _if_ Voldemort was to be defeated she would not survive to see it, each night her dreams were the same, and she saw herself being passed from the hands of one tormentor to another, in the form of Draco Malfoy.

 

Three weeks after she had first revealed to Malfoy who she really was, Cassiopeia woke to a most unpleasant surprise.

Normally when she woke, her husband was already gone for the day, off to take care of the variety of tasks he needed to see to to keep the wizarding world so completely under his thumb. Though it was somewhat lonely to wake up to such an empty bed, it was always better than waking up in the arms of her rapist.

 

Not this morning, however.

 

She woke feeling both cold and hot, and at first she could not place what was the cause of the sensation. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, and then she felt it—a finger, very lightly tracing her slit. She let out a small whimper, and she tried valiantly to ignore just how _good_ it felt, to no avail. Her body had once more betrayed her, and her lips grew damp with need.

“Still ever the cum-slut, I see,” Voldemort purred, and she whimpered again as he parted her lips and circled her clit with his third finger. She squirmed and shivered, but did not bother trying to get away—in her condition, she wouldn't get very far.

“M-My Lord, please...” she began, but hissed as he ignored her feeble plea, and forced her onto her back and flicked his wand sharply.

Cassiopeia let out a low moan, though it was not one of longing, but of fear and discomfort. She could feel her second entrance beginning to slacken, and without warning, it was just as suddenly filled.

Tears streaked her cheeks as her ample bosom heaved with each forceful thrust, her back aching from the force as her heavy chest jerked with each move, and despite her efforts to temporarily sever her mind from her body and _not_ think about what was happening, for some reason, this time, she could not do it.

 

She felt _everything_.

 

Every thrust, every caress to her oversensitive clit, it was maddening in its intensity, and when she came, it felt as though every bone in her body had been turned to jelly.

Cassiopeia's orgasm came to her quickly, but her Lord's did not. He continued to use her hole, silent as the grave, and her only indication that he had reached his completion was the way he stiffened not two seconds before her arse was flooded with his seed.

She shuddered as he extracted himself from her and spelled his cock clean. She was deeply grateful for this—in the past, it had not been uncommon for him to demand that she lick it clean.

As she lay there, the distinct ache in her chest did not abate, and almost unconsciously she went to massage her chest, wholly unaware that her husband was still watching her intently.

“My dear,” he said suddenly, “you seem to be having something of a...problem.”

Cassiopeia blinked, and she noticed suddenly that Voldemort was not looking in her eyes; he was staring at her chest. She felt herself flush a deep, ashamed scarlet when she discovered the exact reason why.

She was leaking milk, and her chest had become somewhat stained with the thin, white liquid.

Chuckling with amusement, he stood and drew on his robes for the day, but when she began to get up to mirror her husband's actions, he threw his hand out and something that felt like a wordless and wandless impediment jinx hit her, it momentarily freezing her movements.

“Oh no, no, no, my dear...” he purred, “we must take care of this problem of yours. I won't have you ruining the pretty garments that I have acquired for you. Sit up, and stay there,” Voldemort commanded as drew his wand, flicked it, and the blankets pooled at her hips, leaving her entire upper half exposed to the cool morning air. She shivered, but did not ask what he was planning. Whatever it was, it was going to be unpleasant, and knowing in advance would not help to ease the sting.

Voldemort clapped his hands once, and a tiny house elf appeared before him.

“Master called?” it squeaked, and Cassiopeia shivered at the wicked smirk that suddenly crossed her husband's face.

“Please summon the young Healer, Draco Malfoy, to this room if you please,” he said, and Cassiopeia felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

 

_Did he know?_

 

The house elf bowed, and disappeared with a sharp _crack._ Cassiopeia moved as though to cover up her chest with the thin blanket, but Voldemort refused her again, and yanked the satin folds from her fingers with another flick of his wand.

“Do not cover yourself, or I may feel the need to restrict how often I permit you to _wear_ clothes, my dear,” he said sternly, leaving no room for argument. She bowed her head and nodded.

“Yes, my Lord.”

 

Cassiopeia sat in silence, and struggled to contain her minor tremors of fright at what Voldemort could possibly have summoned Malfoy for, while she tried to covertly cover herself with her arms. Voldemort seemed to see right through this charade however, and following one of his cold glares, she was always quick to drop her arms.

A soft knock not five minutes later broke through the quiet like a cannon-blast, and her breath caught.

“Enter,” Voldemort said at once, and the door creaked open. Malfoy took a small, uncertain step inside, but stopped short when he caught sight of Cassiopeia sitting naked in the centre of the bed.

“M-my Lord?” Malfoy prompted, confusion written all over his face, paired with just a hint of fear. Voldemort smirked, and with a flick of his wand, the door slammed shut behind the youth, causing him to jump.

“It is quite amazing what one can glean from the mere edges of one's mind,” Voldemort said while he levelled his gaze with Malfoy, who looked very nervous. “I could rip through your feeble Occlumency shields like rain through tissue paper, but there is no need, I think, for such effort on my part. You wear it as plainly as you do those Healer's robes of yours, Draco.”

“M-my Lord, I don't understand—” Malfoy began, but Voldemort was quick to interrupt him.

“—you desire my Cassiopeia,” Voldemort said simply, though strangely without the possessiveness that Cassiopeia had come to associate with him. “You have been looking. You are struggling to _not_ look, now. And I think...” Voldemort trailed off and lifted his chin, his eyes never leaving the youth as he sized him up, “you may have an inkling as to my fair wife's _true_ identity, do you not?”

“An inkling,” Malfoy confirmed, his voice shaking badly, “I—her past children had untidy black hair, and her eyes—there is only one other person who has eyes like that. It is merely a hypothesis—on my part.”

Voldemort briefly turned to Cassiopeia, as though trying to verify this story, then looked back to Malfoy.

“My wife, you think her attractive, do you not?” Voldemort asked, and Malfoy bowed his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Speak, boy. I have posed you a question.”

“Yes my Lord,” Malfoy said quickly, “she is very beautiful. I have always found her beautiful...no matter what form she is in.”

Cassiopeia's eyes widened, and her gaze caught Malfoy's as he raised his eyebrows in an obvious hint. She felt her skin burn, and she looked away.

“Well, you, yourself, are quite a handsome young man,” Voldemort said smoothly, his mouth twitching to a smirk when a look of complete bewilderment crossed Malfoy's face. “The unfortunate madness that pervades your mother's family aside, the Black line has always yielded beautiful children. I am not partial to men, but your waif-like fragility, your aristocratic grace, and your silver beauty have somewhat endeared you to me. I daresay that you and my Cassiopeia would look quite lovely together.”

“My Lord?” Malfoy said uncertainly, “I—I thank you for the compliments, it is kind of you to bestow them upon one such as me, but...I am not entirely certain why it is that you have called me here. What is it that you wish of me?”

“Well, your attraction to my wife, your knowledge as a Healer, and the fact that your shape is not wholly abhorrent to me has given me an idea,” Voldemort began, and Cassiopeia saw Malfoy tense, while she swallowed nervously. There was a wickedness in her husband's voice, like one who was cradling a bomb, and preparing to drop it.

“What is your idea, my Lord?” Malfoy asked, his uncertain tone making it sound as though he was reluctant to actually have an answer to his question.

“My Lady wife seems to be experiencing some pain and discomfort, her breasts, lovely as they are, are leaking. You will lay in her lap, and nurse from her. Ease her pain, and I shall watch.”

“M-my Lord!” Malfoy protested, “this...this is quite indecent, I—”

“Do you speak against your Lord?” Voldemort interrupted, the low calm of his voice far more terrifying than had he been shouting those same words. Malfoy's horrified look at what was being asked of him never left his eyes, but he fell silent and bowed his head.

“No, my Lord, I live to serve you,” he murmured, his soft tone so achingly familiar to Cassiopeia's own that she almost broke down and wept, for it was the same tone of voice she often used when speaking to him as well. To hear it on another's lips was most unsettling.

“Too right you do,” Voldemort replied smoothly, “now, attend to my wife. Suckle as though you were her babe. I wish to see just _how_ sensitive she truly is.”

Malfoy hesitated, but when an irritated and impatient look crossed Voldemort's face, he began to reluctantly shuffled towards the expansive bed.

Cassiopeia watched Malfoy approach, his face flushed with shame and reluctance, clearly showing that though it was true that he desired her, he had no desire to do things _to_ her—not like this. She nodded to him in an effort to reciprocate that she understood, but the horrified look never left his eyes.

He eased down onto the soft blankets, and paused long enough to breathe a whisper of, “I'm sorry,” before he rested his head against her swollen belly, and closed his lips over her right nipple.

Despite her shame at what was happening, the moment Draco began to suckle, a low moan escaped her before she could stop it. The ache lessened, and her highly sensitive flesh tingled in response to him, and she even felt herself grow slick again at the sensation.

She had half-forgotten that her husband was even there, and when she next looked upon him, he was seated across the room, his gaze darkened, and his right hand had disappeared into his robes, clearly stroking himself while he watched. She closed her eyes and tried to not think about it, while her hand moved to stoke Draco's fine hair, though whether the touch was encouragement or reassurance, she wasn't sure.

Draco moved to her other breast, this time with slightly more enthusiasm, though his halting, reluctant movements told her that he still did not like being forced on her like this.

The attentions to her other breast, paired with the distinct _lack_ of pain now was almost too much for her, and she trembled as she tried to ignore the building pleasure his light touch had caused. Such tenderness was not something she found at the hands of her husband, and thus the contact was heightening her arousal, instead of dampening it.

Cassiopeia fidgeted as she took a deep, shuddering breath. Draco had taken more than a few liberties with the task he had been assigned, and she felt his tongue swirl around the hardened nipple, nip at it, anything to keep her mind on him, and not on their silent observer. However, her deep breath had been her downfall, as just as suddenly, she heard her husband laugh.

“Oh, look at what you have done, Draco,” he purred as he stood, using his wand to erase the white mess from his hand as he strode forward. Draco sat up and gazed at Voldemort nervously, his eyes wide and almost devoid of their usual silver, with the pupils blown wide in his own arousal. “You have stimulated my fair Cassiopeia, and now she is longing for release.”

“My Lord, I—I did not intend to cause her, er...discomfort,” Draco said meekly, while he gazed up at Voldemort with wide eyes, his expression riddled with uncertainty. Cassiopeia could sympathize with that—what exactly did Voldemort want him to do?

“A gentleman never leaves a lady unsatisfied,” Voldemort said smoothly, “and you have made this mess, you must now clean it up.” Voldemort groped himself crudely through his robes, “use your mouth, and she will use hers,” Voldemort said, while he withdrew his already half-hard cock from his robes once more, and Draco's eyes bulged at the sight of it. “Cassiopeia, you know what to do. Lie down with your head dangling off the bed.”

“My Lord!” Draco squeaked, his eyes wide, “this—this is most improper! She is your wife, what pleasure do you get from seeing her with someone else?”

“Do you dare to delve into my private matters, Draco?” Voldemort asked softly, and Draco blanched. “You will do as you are commanded, or I will have you replaced my someone more willing.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord,” Draco said almost immediately as he dropped his gaze, “it's just...” he paused and shook his head. “My apologies, my Lord, for my continued protests. I am used to partners who are wholly willing, not...reluctant.”

“Ah, dear boy,” Voldemort said with a chuckle as he grabbed Cassiopeia by the shoulder and forced her down onto the bed, her head dangling off the side, and her horrified, mournful tears trickled into her hair while her husband spoke. “You will soon learn that there is a lovely thrill to taking what you want from a partner, instead of asking for it.”

If Draco answered Voldemort's last statement, Cassiopeia did not hear it. Her focus had shifted to the red, hardened, impossibly thick cock mere millimetres from her face, and she forced her throat to relax while she licked her lips, and opened her mouth.

Even though she knew what was coming, it still did not adequately prepare her for the agonizing, choking sensation of Voldemort pushing his cock into her mouth and down her throat without pause. The force of it was painful, and she struggled to breathe while at the same time a shudder passed through her when she felt an uncertain tongue swipe over her swollen and throbbing clit.

A strangled moan escaped her past the cock down her throat, just as Voldemort drew back, paused long enough for her to gasp for breath before he plunged back in.

Draco, in contrast, was gentle, but impassioned. She was uncertain whether or not he had done this before, but as time wore on and he suckled on her clit in the same way that he had done to her nipples, interspersed with soft caresses to her inner thighs. It was so unlike any sexual experience that her female body had heretofore experienced, and the pleasure that she drew from his touch was confusing, because though it was unwanted—even under normal circumstances she was uncertain if she would ever willingly accept touch from Draco Malfoy—it felt _wonderful_.

Her husband reached orgasm at the same moment that Draco leached hers from her body, and she shuddered at heat raced through her and she attempted to cry out around the appendage lodged in her throat.

Cassiopeia felt the satin bedsheet being pulled over her lower half, as though in an effort to preserve some of her dignity, while Voldemort slowly drew his cock from her throat, apparently pleased with himself. Draco scrambled quickly off the bed, and would not look at her as she sat up.

“Hm, yes,” Voldemort said as his eyes flitted between the two of them, “your task is to see to my dear wife's chest when she is experiencing discomfort. Of course, only when I am present. You are a young man, after all, and one can never trust a man's hands not to wander. Dismissed.”

Draco rushed from the room without a word, and Voldemort was quick to follow, leaving her alone with only her thoughts for company.

When the distant echo of their footsteps died away, Cassiopeia buried her face in her hands, and wept.

 

~*~

 

Cassiopeia did not see Draco Malfoy for three days.

 

She suffered rough treatment of her body at her husband's hands—though never roughly enough to risk injury to the babe that grew within her—but he still knew how to make her draw pleasure from it, which easily worsened her disgust at herself for feeling anything _good_ at his hands. She would have assumed that she would never see Draco, had it not been for her mandatory visits to the infirmary for her checkups with Healer Rook—thankfully, Voldemort had so far not called on him for another 'session'.

Draco did not meet her eyes during her weekly visit to the infirmary, but instead saw to his duties in silence. His entire body seemed to radiate shame for what he had been forced to do to her, and Voldemort seemed strangely pleased by his attitude. The Dark Lord smirked as he looked on at him, once more casually touching Cassiopeia intimately before the Healers with little regard for the discomfort of his wife or their would-be 'audience'.

“Everything seems to be fine,” Healer Rook said with a small, forced smile, “however, my Lord, I would caution you to not unnecessarily stress your wife—depression, stress, anxiety...it may lead to birth complications, early labour, or something more serious.”

“These complications...would they pose any true threat to the life of my wife or unborn child?” he asked in a light, casual tone, as though he was not sexually assaulting his wife right in front of them. With ashamed tears streaking her cheeks, he shoved two fingers into her, and the other pressed down hard against her clit, which caused her hips to involuntarily twitch.

“Th-they might, my Lord. It is difficult to say what, exactly, may happen,” Healer Rook said, determinedly keeping his eyes off his patient, “these things can be quite unpredictable. I have some paperwork in my office that I can show you if you wish to see more detail about what sort of complications may arise...”

Voldemort did not immediately answer, but instead picked up his pace, and brought Cassiopeia to a rough, painful orgasm before he turned to the Healer, seemingly pleased with the look of unease upon his face.

“Please, show me your work,” he said, while at the same time he forced the fingers that he had been using on Cassiopeia into her mouth, a silent command to lick them clean. She did so, knowing that really, she had no choice, and when he deemed his hand sufficiently unsullied by her orgasmic juices, he withdrew his hand and followed the Healer from the room.

The moment that they had gone, Draco sat down upon the edge of her bed. She jumped a little as he took her hand gently in his own, and gave it a small squeeze. He quickly let go.

 

“I promise,” Draco whispered, “I _promise_ that I will end this. For you, for me—for all of us.”

 


	4. Part IV: Rebirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Much shorter than I would have liked, but I didn't want to stretch it out too much and make it drag. Enjoy!

Part IV: Rebirth

 

It happened suddenly.

The birth of her previous children Cassiopeia had expected, and the moment when the contractions began she could all but predict with alarming accuracy. This talent gave her some semblance of control over her out-of-control existence, and the brief flashes of surprise that always crossed her husband's face when she announced that it was _time_ before anything had happened yet always left her with a deep feeling of satisfaction.

 

This one was different.

 

Cassiopeia woke one morning in mid-December, her body bruised and aching. Voldemort had already vacated the bed, and left her to rouse herself and tend to the bruises he had left upon her alone, without the aid of a house elf or servant.

She had been in the lavatory, not yet dressed for the day beyond a thin, almost translucent dressing gown that was just barely long enough to cover her arse. With the swell of her pregnant belly beneath it however, it rode up and exposed her lower half completely, much to the pleasure of her husband.

Cassiopeia was withdrawing a bottle of dittany from the cabinet when it happened.

 

The small bottle tumbled from between her fingers, and smashed against the cold stone floor.

 

She hardly noticed that she was no longer holding onto the bottle as she stepped barefoot in broken glass and spilled dittany. Pain beyond pain lanced through her; her knees buckled, and with her hands tightly gripping the edges of the marble sink, she just barely managed to keep standing.

Her breath escaped her as a trembling gasp, and she glanced down when she felt something warm begin to trickle down her inner thighs. However, what she saw staining her flesh was not the substance that she had expected to see there.

 

Blood.

 

So much blood.

 

Panic filled her, and Cassiopeia opened her mouth to cry out for a house elf, for a servant, _someone—_ but no sound escaped her. She did not know what was happening—all she knew was that something was very, _very_ wrong.

 

Cassiopeia staggered to the door, back through the bedroom, and had almost made it into the hall when blackness enveloped her vision, and she sunk into unconsciousness.

 

Darkness took her then, but it was a peaceful dark, hindered only by the cries of voices that were not her own. She did not know whether or not she had imagined them, and knew only that they sounded panicked and afraid, where in contrast she felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

 

_She's hemorrhaging! I need a Blood Replenishment Potion now, or they'll both die!_

 

_We don't have any more! We'll have to do without, we need to do a caseran, there's no way that she can birth this child naturally!_

 

Pain lanced through her again, and she fell further into a near-comatose state. She was not even aware enough to hear the cries of alarm as Lord Voldemort swept into the infirmary and promptly collapsed, nor did she notice that her heart had stopped beating.

 

When Cassiopeia next opened her eyes, there was no pain. She felt comfortably warm, and her mind felt strangely peaceful. This seemed a little strange to her, for she could not recall the last time that she felt any sort of peace or joy that did not carry an undercurrent of fear to it.

Cassiopeia sat up and looked around, and found herself in some sort of nowhere place. Soft white mist obscured everything around her, and though she knew that she was laying on _some_ kind of hard surface, it was so blank and featureless that she felt mildly unnerved by it. It took her a moment to realize that she was also completely naked, but given that this was nothing new to her, she did not feel particularly perturbed by it.

Ever so slowly, the mist began to clear, and she began to recognize the space—the glass ceiling, the benches, the tracks...she gasped sharply when she realized where she was.

 

King's Cross.

 

Suddenly, she did not feel as though she enjoyed being so exposed, and the moment that the thought crossed through her mind, she immediately found herself clothed.

What she found herself wearing was not one of the uncomfortable, revealing outfits she had grown used to in the last few years, but soft, comfortable robes that covered her from throat to ankle, and she felt as though she wanted to weep. The soft velvet felt expensive, but wonderful against her skin, and it smelled of a sharp tang of body odour that was far from unpleasant, and in fact made her feel more at ease, like she had been wrapped in a warm blanket.

 

She was distracted from her new robes by a sudden, soft noise. It sounded to her like a sort of muffled weeping, and she stood to walk over to the source of it, but lurched back in disgust almost at once when she caught sight of it.

The thing was tucked away underneath a bench, like someone had surreptitiously hidden it there, hoping that no one would see it. It was a baby, but unlike any baby that Cassiopeia had ever seen. It was frail and bony, covered in some sort of black, viscous fluid, and it seemed to be crying. Its vocalizations came out like a wheezing hiss, less like a dying human, and more like some sort of large, angry reptile or insect. Despite the horrifying nature of the thing, she wanted to help it, but at the same time, there was a deep sense in the pit of her stomach that told her she _shouldn't._

Despite her reservations, she took an uncertain step forward.

 

“You cannot help.”

 

Cassiopeia spun around.

 

Standing before her in robes of deep, midnight blue, was the last person that she expected to see: Albus Dumbledore.

He looked the same as he always had in life, with his long silver beard, his half-moon glasses, and twinkling blue eyes. He was beaming at her with pride, an expression that she did not completely believe that she deserved. She hadn't done anything...had she?

“Oh my boy,” Dumbledore said, his arms spread wide, “Harry, you brave, brave man.”

“Am I still Harry?” she asked weakly as she continued to stare at Dumbledore in shock, “I—but, sir, you're dead...aren't you?”

“That, I think, is up to you,” Dumbledore replied with a familiar smile, “whether you are Harry still, or you choose to be known as someone else, at your core, you are still the same resilient, amazingly brave person you have always been. As for myself, oh yes, I am most definitely dead.”

“So...am I dead?”

“On the whole, I think not,” Dumbledore said, while she continued to stare up at her old headmaster with wide-eyed wonder.

“Not?” she asked.

“Not,” Dumbledore answered while he folded his arms behind his back and spun on his heel, “come, let us walk.”

Cassiopeia fell into step with her old mentor, and it took her a moment to work through all that he had said before she posed her next question.

“Sir, if I'm not dead...then what is this place?”

“We are at a crossroads, of sorts,” Dumbledore explained, though he never glanced in her direction as they walked, “and I am its guardian.”

She nodded her head to the explanation, though she didn't completely understand it. She looked back, but she could no longer see the thing that she had caught sight of earlier.

“So, if I'm not dead, then...what happened?” she asked uncertainly. Dumbledore finally looked over at her, and smiled kindly.

“The fluke of the dangerous complications surrounding the birth of your son did something very important,” Dumbledore explained, “do you perhaps know what that is?”

For a moment, Cassiopeia could not think; two simple words in Dumbledore's explanation rang through her mind, and she skidded to a halt.

 

_Your son._

 

She pressed a hand to her flat belly, and turned away from Dumbledore as tears welled in her eyes.

“I have a son,” she whispered weakly, “Voldemort won't kill him.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore agreed, and when she turned back around, he was still smiling at her in that familiar, placid way that she'd come to know so well in years past. “Something else, my dear—” he broke off abruptly when she winced.

“Please, sir, don't call me that, he—” Cassiopeia cut herself off with a shudder, and Dumbledore's eyes seemed to glow with understanding and sympathy.

“Ah, yes, of course,” he replied softly, his tone remorseful, “my apologies, I had not intended to cause you any distress.” He paused, and despite the formality of his phrasing, she could hear that he truly was sorry. “As I was saying,” he continued, “he did something else. Can you perhaps figure out what it is?”

Dumbledore fell silent while he waited for her answer. His expression never wavered, and he looked as though he had all the time in the world to wait for her answer.

At first, her mind was too clouded to think clearly. She was overwhelmed with relief that her child would live to see a second sunrise, and her joy made it difficult to focus on anything else. It took several long moments before she felt calm enough to approach the question that Dumbledore had put to her rationally.

_Something else, something else..._ she thought while she looked around the space, and her eyes fell to the spot some distance away where she had seen the thing. 

 

_Of course._

 

“The Horcrux!” she cried, and Dumbledore beamed at her.

“Yes, indeed,” he agreed, “your son, quite by chance, broke the bond that connects you to Voldemort, and now it is very possible to put an end to him, if you wish.”

“If I wish?”

“Well, as I said, we are at a crossroads,” Dumbledore said, repeating his words from earlier, “you can go back to your son, and to Voldemort, and possibly finish him once and for all. Or, you can go on.”

“On? On where?”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and his lips stretched into a small smile.

“Ah, well, that would be telling, now wouldn't it?”

“If I go back, I might die,” she said softly, “it might all be for nothing. But...my son...”

“Your son will be cared for, regardless what you choose,” Dumbledore said, “it is no selfish act to decide that your journey has ended. Indeed, to go back you risk everything, but there is a young man back there, whom, I believe, would offer the assistance that you need to, as they say, _get the job done_.”

“Young man?” she asked, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, though he did not answer. She thought that he might be alluding to Draco, but even he would never go so far as to defy Voldemort openly...would he? The thought raised more questions than it answered, and she moved on to another subject.

“What will happen to me if I am able to kill him?” she asked tentatively, “will I go back to normal?” Dumbledore's face fell, and her heart sank.

“The kinds of transfiguration Voldemort performed on you is highly advanced,” Dumbledore explained while he regarded her with another sympathetic look. “much of it is now locked in your genetic code, and in your magical signature. It is no longer connected to Voldemort, but to you. You will not go back to normal, but if you so choose, I am sure someone may be able to help transfigure you back to something close to the way you were, perhaps Minerva, or Miss Granger, for example.”

Dumbledore paused, and he levelled his gaze with her, and she felt that all-too familiar sensation that she was being x-rayed by him. “I believe the question you may wish to ask yourself is this: do you wish to go back to being Harry, do you think that you can live out your life in this new identity that was forced upon you, or do you wish to choose another path entirely?”

Cassiopeia did not answer straightaway, but gazed around the space thoughtfully. It was a big question, one that she had never had an opportunity to ask herself until now. She _had_ to be Cassiopeia for so long that the idea that she now had some sort of choice struck her as decidedly odd.

“I...don't know,” she replied honestly, and glanced briefly back at Dumbledore before she looked again to the white, almost featureless horizon. “I still sort of miss the old me, but I've gotten used to the new me, too. Both Cassiopeia and Harry are me, now, if that makes sense.”

“It does indeed,” he agreed, “we cannot stay who we are at any one given moment. Much like the magic that shapes us, our experiences, both good and bad, will shape us. And sometimes, we are become people that the old us would never fully recognize. However, that is not to say that such a thing is bad—change is constant, it is natural. It is neither good nor bad.”

“But how do I know if that's really me talking?” she asked, a note of desperation in her voice as she rounded on Dumbledore again, “Voldemort did all sorts of things to my mind that made me...made me...”

“I can assure you that any enchantments Voldemort has placed upon your mind will break the moment he dies,” Dumbledore said gently when her voice seemed to fail her, “the transfigurations are another issue, but those enchantments—the desire for, his ah, his _essence—_ ” Cassiopeia blushed a deep crimson, and Dumbledore chuckled as he continued, “—and the desire to bear children will disappear and diminish respectively to what they would have been in your natural state, as will any other mind-altering spells that he may have cast.”

“That's something, at least,” she replied as she dropped her gaze her feet. They were bare, but her toenails were painted a shiny burgundy, just as they were in life. “I—I think that I need to go back. I need to finish this, and I don't want to do to my child what Voldemort did to me. I can't orphan him. I need this done.”

“An admirable sentiment!” Dumbledore cried as he beamed at her again. “In going back you have much to gain, and so much to live for. I do believe, in going back, you have every chance in the world of finishing Voldemort, but that, in the end, if up to you.”

Cassiopeia did not speak for a long moment. She dropped her gaze from her old mentor, and thought of what there was to gain and lose in returning to her life. To see her son grow up, that was certainly the biggest draw, but who was the young man that Dumbledore mentioned? Was it really Draco Malfoy that he meant, or was it someone else? 

In all this time, she had not been given a real choice in sex partners, and she had gone from a relationship with Ginny now little more than six years earlier, to being forced into Voldemort's bed. She hadn't any time to really come to terms with whether she preferred men over women, or vice versa, or both. 

She lifted her gaze again, and her eyes invariably fell upon the spot where the thing lay, now silent. Did she really need to do this? _Could_ she even do this?

“Do not pity the dead,” Dumbledore said gently, “pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say goodbye for the present.”

As white as the rest of the place, a ghostly train pulled into the station, and its doors opened with a soft hiss. Cassiopeia approached it nervously; she knew that she had to go back, and her heart swelled with excitement and fear in equal measure at the prospect. The thought of seeing her child, alive and healthy, was too wonderful for words. But the idea of taking a life, even one as twisted and horrible as Voldemort's, was still a terrifying thought.

One of her feet had rested on the train's stairwell when she paused and turned back to her old, smiling headmaster.

“Tell me one last thing,” she said, “is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”

 

Dumbledore beamed at her, and his image wavered, as though the air had suddenly grown very hot.

 

“Of course it is happening inside your head, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I think it sort of goes without saying that this chapter contained a lot of dialogue pulled directly from DH: King's Cross.


	5. Part V: Awakening

Part V: Awakening

 

Cassiopeia had expected to awaken to noise—chaos, even.

_Something._

Instead, she woke to near-dead silence, save for a soft, comforting gurgling, and a gentle, welcome weight against her chest.

Her eyes flicked open.

She paid the room she was in no mind, nor the musty smell that permeated the air, or the soft, distant rustle of wildlife running through the foliage of a forest, which gave her the impression that she was in some sort of cabin.

All her attention was focused on the tiny form that rested upon her chest, swaddled in a soft spring green blanket, his head curled forward to show her a tuft of untidy black hair, his mouth sucking absently on his little fist, even in sleep.

She hardly dared believe what she was seeing. Her child— _alive._

Cassiopeia reached out an uncertain hand to brush her fingers across his little chubby cheek, and her breath caught as tears came to her eyes.

Next to her, someone stirred, and she turned, startled, to see the last person that she ever expected to see.

Draco Malfoy was seated in a chair next to the bed, still wearing his Healer's robes, and his body was bowed forward, arms folded on the bed, with his head pillowed on top of them. More startling still was the rusty swath of old bloodstains upon the fabric that she could not recall seeing there before, which decorated the sleeves and torso of his robes, and she was deeply chilled by how _much_ of it there seemed to be.

Her gentle waking had roused him, and he woke slowly, smiling weakly at her, though there was a haunted look in his eyes that made her uneasy.

“Good morning, my L—Potter,” he said while he tried for an old smirk, but its confidence did not reach his eyes.

“Am I still Potter?” she asked, and winced at the hoarse quality of her voice. Her hands tightened on her child when he let out a soft gurgle, and to her question, Malfoy shrugged.

“You're still Potter if you want to be, I suppose,” he replied, “the Dark Lord is dead.”

“What?” she breathed, the bottom dropping out of her stomach at his words, “I'm sorry, I mean, _what? How?_ ”

To her questions, Malfoy dropped his gaze.

“I—when you fell unconscious, and the Dark Lord did as well, and I...I— _God_ , I forgot myself.”

“Draco,” she said, his first name sounding strange on her tongue, and his gaze snapped up in surprise at the sound of it. She reached out and rested a hand over his as she pleaded, “please, tell me.”

“I have the memory ready if you wish to view it,” he replied softly, and jerked his head in the direction of a pensieve perched upon an old and rickety writing desk at the other end of the room. “I wasn't certain you'd believe me if I just _told_ you. But...after, my aunt went berserk. She was convinced that you had done something to her precious Dark Lord, and she went after you and your son. I took you here before she could hurt either of you.”

“Where is here?” she asked as she slowly sat up, for the first time noticing that she was not in her usual clothes, but soft, comfortable black robes made of some sort of soft material. She realized with a sudden jolt that they were, in fact, the same ones that she had been wearing in her dreamscape with Dumbledore.

“The Black Forest, Severus took me here after...that night,” Draco explained, “he was concerned that the Ministry might come after us, and this was one of his safe houses. It has everything we need, and we can stay here until the dust settles.” He paused, and looked up and down Cassiopeia's body, but it was a clinical, cold look, and not sexual. This in itself helped her to find it comforting, rather than unsettling.

“While you were sleeping, I tried to break the transfiguration enchantments, but I couldn't,” Draco said, a distinct pain in his voice, “I could try contacting McGonagall, but I have a feeling that even she may be incapable of returning you to how you were.” His cheeks tinted a sudden pink, and she regarded him oddly, but for a long moment he did not explain the source of his embarrassment. When he did at last speak, his voice was halting and reluctant. “You are...quite beautiful, you know, so if you chose to stay that way I don't think anyone would fault you for it.”

“Looks aren't everything,” she answered with a small shrug, “to be honest, I don't know if I want to go back to being Harry, but I don't know if I can go on in an identity that Voldemort created for me, either.” Her hold tightened on the child in her arms, and he gurgled softly again, reaching up a tiny, chubby arm to grip at the fabric that covered her bosom.

“Then become someone new,” Draco suggested, and reached out for her arm, and stroked it gently. Though she knew that Draco likely intended the touch as comforting, and not some sort of a come-on, she could not help but flinch from it, and he quickly drew back his hand. “I'm sorry,” he said quickly, “I'm not very good at taking care of people yet.”

“Well, on the whole, you're doing admirably,” she replied, and grimaced at the breathless, frightened quality of her voice. “Just...please don't touch me. It's still too close to...everything.”

“I'm sorry,” he repeated, and sounded like he meant it, too. His gaze fell to the babe in her arms, and quickly Draco changed the subject. “He hasn't a name yet, you realize.”

Her eyes fell to the child— _her_ child. She adjusted her hold slightly to lift a hand to his cheek again, and the soft touch was enough to rouse him. He stirred, and his eyes flicked open. In an instant, she felt her blood run cold.

_Red_ eyes.

Everything that had happened over the last five years rushed through her mind in quick succession; her kidnapping, her forced change from male to female, the constant cycle of rape, pregnancy, and the anguish that followed Voldemort's murder of the her baby girls, one after another. Her eyes brimmed with tears and she clenched them shut as they streaked her cheeks, and her hold tightened on the child in her arms.

Was it even possible to love something unconditionally, and fear it at the same time?

“I don't know if I can do this...” she whispered weakly, not looking at Draco or her nameless child, though she still could not let go of the babe, “what child wants a mother who cannot look in his eyes without flinching?”

“Pott—My L—Cassiopeia,” Draco stumbled over the names and titles, and she looked up at him, eyes wide. He looked as though he wanted to embrace her, but she could also see that he was forcing himself to hold back. “This child is _not_ the Dark Lord. He is descended from— _him_ but he is not an evil being. He is a baby—a child— _your_ child. Would you forsake him because of his parentage, like I...” he trailed off and looked away, a look of incredible guilt clouding his silvery gaze.

“Draco?” she prompted when he did not speak for a long moment, but he did not answer, and instead continued to stare at the warped wooden floor.

“I—I'm going to try and find something for you to eat. Be with your child. I shall be nearby should you require anything.”

Without another word, he stood and bolted from the room.

 

~*~

 

She stared at the rickety door that Draco had disappeared behind, and then looked back down to the infant. He was beginning to fuss, and instinctively she knew that he was probably hungry.

Feeling somewhat awkward, she loosed the buttons on the robe that she wore, and pulled them down enough for her son to latch on to the nipple, and began the suckle. It felt odd, but nowhere near as painful as she had expected. His little fist curled against her breast, and she felt her stomach clench with guilt, because Draco had been right.

She _thought_ that she no longer cared that the child that currently lay nestled in her arms was of Voldemort's blood, as well as her own, but it was quite clear that she did. To look into those ruby irises, she could not help but see all the terrible things her child's father had put her through. She inhaled a shuddering breath, and reached down with her free hand to stroke the flyaway tufts of hair.

_Just how mine used to be..._ she thought, and blinked back a fresh wave of tears. _Am I even Harry Potter still?_ she wondered, _who_ am _I?_

No matter how often the question repeated in her mind, no answer came to her.

Draco left her alone all night, but she welcomed the solitude, rather than reviled it. She did not sleep, but rather spent the night in deep thought, while she tried to come to a decision regarding the present and her uncertain future.

All the while, she held tightly to her son.

He slept through most of the night, waking only a handful of times to be fed, but strangely, never required a changing, which struck her as slightly odd. However, she all but clung to him, while the mixed feelings of fear and adoration for the tiny bundle in her arms almost overwhelmed her.

He looked nothing like Voldemort, save for the eyes, and every waking brought with it a soft coo as he began to fuss, but not once did he scream or cry loudly. And still, she had not named him.

In the twilight of dawn Cassiopeia finally fell asleep, one arm extended and curled around her son, with her body acting like something of a shield to keep him from possibly toppling from the bed. When she next woke, based on the quality of light streaming through the moth-eaten curtains it had to be around noon, and she found a wicker bassinet set up next to the rickety bed, and a plate of hot food that had been set up on the night stand. It was not the light or the smell of food that woke her, but the soft sounds of her child beginning to fuss again, and she quickly hoisted him up for a feed.

A soft tapping on the door broke the silence, and she heard Draco's muffled voice from the other side.

“It's me,” he said simply, “may I come in?”

“Yeah, it's okay,” she answered, and immediately Draco let himself into the room. He was dressed in fine black robes that seemed to border between casual enough for everyday wear, and fine enough to show off his aristocratic background. When he stepped in, his eyes immediately fell to her partially-exposed chest, but it was not a hungry or desirous look that she saw in his eyes, but a clinical one, reminding her once more that Draco was training to be a Healer, and bare breasts were hardly something new to him.

“I brought this for you,” he explained as he dug inside his robes and extracted her old phoenix feather wand, mended, and Draco extended it to her, handle first. “My mother had it, but I'm not certain where she got it or how.”

She accepted it from him, and a warmth spread from the wand through her fingers and up her arm, then a small shower of gold sparks erupted from its tip.

“How?” she asked as Draco pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. Around the same moment, her child seemed to have had his fill, and she readjusted her robes, then cradled him in her arms again. Though it would have been more logical to let him rest in the bassinet next to her, she couldn't bring herself to let go of him—not yet.

“Ollivander, those Lovegood oddballs, and Granger,” Draco explained. “My mother only had the pieces. She gave it to them and they took the Dark Lord's wand and mended it with ease, I've no idea why or how his wand could mend yours...but it did. I promised to bring it to you.” He paused and regarded her in contemplative silence for a moment, then added, “I'm still not certain what I should call you, by the way. Or what you want to be known as—I'd assumed you'd want to go back to being Potter, but now...I'm uncertain.”

“Honestly, I don't know _who_ I am anymore,” she replied with a weak shrug, “I was Harry Potter, then I was Cassiopeia. But...she was Voldemort's...” she trailed off and shuddered. “I'd never really had a chance to think much about who I am, or was, because of everything that went on when we were teenagers. I mean, losing my identity as a man hurt, but, at the same time, I feel nothing about it. I don't really miss it, but I don't know if I feel like a woman, either, or what it even means to _be_ one.” She sighed heavily, and readjusted her hold on her child as she lifted the other to rake it through her long, unwashed hair. “It's really confusing.”

“Well, there's no rush to decide, the wizarding world on the whole thinks that you're dead, and if you do go back you'll be welcomed with open arms, but...” Draco trailed off, and his eyes fell to her child, “if you choose to return, you would need to never speak about his parentage. There's every chance that the Ministry may feel that he is destined to be the next Dark Lord and do something...rash.”

“Rash, like...killing him?”

“Most likely,” Draco replied, and her arms tensed around the baby as he let out a soft cry of discomfort. “No one, save my family and Healer Rook, know of his existence, and no one knows that you are here. You're safe, er...” he trailed off, and eyed her uncertainly.

“Cassie,” she said, testing the name out on her tongue, “call me Cassie.” Draco nodded, and offered her a most uncharacteristic smile.

“You're safe, Cassie.”

 

~*~

 

Cassie passed a week in the dreary little cabin without really leaving the bedroom she had woken up in, save for quick trips to the toilet. All that time, she had yet to let go of her son.

Her arms ached, but she could not bring herself to put him down—not yet.

Draco had claimed that Voldemort was gone, and she believed him, but it did not feel real to her, and more like a silly, outlandish daydream. Every moment, she expected to see him again—for him to burst in and take away her child, or finally try and kill her like he should have done all those years ago in the forest.

The unnamed child gurgled in her arms, and she laid him down on the bed, then stretched out next to him, using her body as a shield to keep him from rolling off the bed and hurting himself. He looked up at his mother with a toothless, happy smile as he let out a coo, and she smiled weakly at him, brushing her fingers over the tuft of black hair on his head, while she tried to avoid looking into his eyes.

Aside from the untidy black hair, she hated how little of herself she saw in the boy.

At first, she had believed that the only resemblance he had to his father were his eyes, but now she realized that he looked _so_ much like Tom Riddle. With every day that passed, he looked more and more like his father, and not less, as she had hoped.

Cassie pressed her lips together, but the choked sob still escaped past her lips.

Draco was there in an instant, his eyes wide with worry.

“Cassie?” he asked as she sat up and gathered the child into her arms again, while she ignored the tears that streaked her cheeks. “What's the matter?”

“How—how am I supposed to parent a child that I can't look at without flinching?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “He—he looks _so_ much like his father, I must be the worst mother in the world, I can't even look into my own child's eyes without being afraid.”

Another choking sob stopped her from continuing, and despite her deep, even breaths in an effort to calm herself, her tears would not abate.

Draco crossed the room without a word, and sat down on the chair next to the bed. He withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to her, and she accepted it, nodding her head in silent thanks.

“I think it may have been a mistake, letting you hide away in here for so long, I mean,” Draco said gently as he accepted the damp piece of cloth back from her, “you're in shock; nothing feels real to you, and you have lost every sense of identity—you haven't even given your son a name yet.”

Cassie bowed her head shamefully, but did not answer. Draco had fallen silent, but when she did not respond to his comments, he pressed on.

“I have some things for you,” he continued, “I—erm, I hope you're not terribly upset, but while you were sleeping I used a measuring tape to take your measurements, and I went out and bought you some things—clothes, hair potion, some cosmetics, I wasn't certain what you would want...”

Cassie watched him, and in particular how he went very pink as his explanation wore on. She felt warmed by his words, touched that he would do such a thing for her, but after a quick pause, she realized that he wasn't quite finished yet.

“I, ah, also have a few things for your child,” he said, and flushed again, “bottles, toys, some clothes...”

“Nappies?” she asked, and he smirked, nodding.

“I bought the No-Mess ones,” Draco explained, “they self-clean for ten days before they need to be changed with a new one. I think it would save us from building up an alarming amount of waste from his little bottom.”

“I appreciate it,” she said, then glanced down at her son, “we _both_ do. But...why did you? What's in it for you?”

Draco's Trademark Malfoy smirk slowly dissolved, and it was replaced with a soft, genuine smile. She did not know what it meant, and she watched as Draco lurched forward, as though he wanted to touch her, or embrace her, but at the last moment he thought better of it and pulled back.

“I fancy you, Cassie,” Draco said simply, and she felt her face flush at the unabashed admission. “I fancied you when you were Harry, I fancied you when you were Cassiopeia, and I fancy you now. Your shape doesn't really matter to me, you're still you. I want to keep you safe—I want to help you, if you'll let me.” He paused, and looked down at his hands. He opened and closed them several times before he looked back up at her. “That doesn't mean that I, er, expect anything from you, but if you'll give me a chance, I'd like to help you find yourself again—whomever that may be.”

“I...” she paused, trailing off as she looked away from Draco. At the same moment, her child let out a familiar, gurgling whine, and she loosed the ties at the back of her robes, and they fell open to expose her chest. The little boy latched on and began to suckle, then when she was certain that he was comfortable, she turned her gaze back to Draco, who had been determinedly looking away from her, his face rather pink. “I don't really know what to say,” she said at last, “I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. I just...thank you, Draco.”

Cassie felt as though that simple 'thank you' was not enough to completely encompass all that she was feeling. Her deep gratitude, not just for Draco taking care of her, but for being decent—much more decent than she would have expected—was almost overwhelming.

“You don't have to say anything,” Draco replied, “I didn't do it for me, I did it for you.” He stood, and reached out to brush his hand over her shoulder in an affectionate gesture that lasted no more than a split second, far too fast for her to even react to it. “The things I bought for you are there,” Draco said, and motioned to the trunk at the end of the bed with his wand, and it popped open to display several stacks of neatly folded clothing, some items for babies, and a number of bottles and jars of the potions and cosmetics that Draco had mentioned. “When you finish, maybe find something you like, and come outside. You don't have to if you don't want to, but I think it'll be good for you two to have some fresh air. The warding stretches to five hundred metres around the house in every direction, so we're safe, more or less.”

Draco did not wait for a response, but instead swept from the room without another word.

Cassie sat upon the bed, rocking the child a little as he nursed, his little fist curled against her breast, and his eyes were flicking open and shut as he tried to stay awake. He lost the battle and nodded off, and Cassie gently pulled him away from her chest while she adjusted the garment, then carefully got up with the child still in her arms to inspect the contents of the trunk.

It was a relief to see that Draco seemed to have understood that her clothing while trapped in the manor was not what she would have liked to wear, and thus the contents of the trunk was wildly different from those revealing garments. Most of it contained muggle clothes—unisex T-shirts, a mixture of bottom undergarments for men and women, a number of different bras, and half the items of clothing seemed to be designed for men, and the other for women. The women's clothes were not overly revealing—there were a few tank tops, and women's shorts that barely went a third of the way down her thigh, but overall they seemed to be quite conservative.

The cosmetics, too, seemed to be a mix—deodorants in scents designed for men or women, a few items of makeup, perfumes and colognes, but nothing overt or gaudy like she had been forced to wear while at the manor.

Draco seemed to have gone overboard when it came to the baby clothes, however.

Onesies in every colour and pattern under the sun, little romper suits, baby leather jackets, tiny trainers, little T-shirts with nauseatingly adorable prints on them (Cassie's favourite being a shirt in sky-blue with the picture of a teddy bear on it) and a stack of the special nappies that Draco had mentioned. There was also a precious little stuffed dragon, green, with some sort of shiny material sewn onto its belly and the inside of its wings.

When Cassie picked the thing up, she realized that it was slightly frayed, but still in near-perfect condition. It also had a mothball smell to it, as though it had been stored away for a very long time.

Cassie turned it over in her hand curiously, and immediately nearly dropped it, for scrawled on the bottom of its foot in shaky, childish handwriting was a single word.

 

_Draco_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I was a little nervous about how this chapter would be received, but my fanfic guinea pigs gave it a thumbs up, so...yeah. As for the specifics of how Voldy died, we'll get there in time, I'm not about to -not- address it.


	6. Part VI: Identity

Part VI: Identity

 

It was with no small amount of apprehension that Cassie abandoned the sanctuary of the room and stepped out into the main area of the little cabin.

It was simple, and aside from the lavatory and the other bedroom, everything else had been crammed into one large space. On the left-hand side was the sitting room, complete with a bookcase full of musty old tomes, and on the right side was the kitchen and dining area, both of which held furniture that had clearly seen better days. It was rickety and warped, paint was peeling from the walls, and she could smell the faint odour of mould underlying some sort of pine-scented cleaner. Despite the clear attempts Draco seemed to have made to make it habitable, the ceiling was still dominated by cobwebs and thick layers of dust, making the once-handsome wood look grey with age.

Of course, she had not expected anything fancy, but it was still something of a shock to see it. Given that it was midwinter, there was also a deep, damp chill in the air that the crackling fire seemed incapable of dispelling all on its own, and she shivered as she pulled her son more securely against her chest.

When she had stepped out, Draco, seated about five feet from her in front of the fire, immediately gave her a once-over, and she felt herself flush under his gaze. She had chosen a pair of the women's jeans, a fitted green T-shirt, and an overlarge jumper to wear, and she revelled in the ability to wear something comfortable, instead of revealing. Her undergarments, too, were a new experience for her, and were made of cotton, and not itchy lace, which also made for a nice change.

“You look...good,” Draco said at last, and she smiled sheepishly at him.

“Thanks,” she replied, “I feel loads better.” Encouraged by the compliment, she stepped farther into the main area of the cabin as she continued, “I know I've said it a lot, but...thank you. There is, ah, one thing that I'll be needing that you seemed to have forgotten about, though.”

Draco cocked a confused eyebrow at her, as though confused as to what he may have forgotten, and Cassie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Ah... _feminine products_.”

“Oh, _oh._ That...stuff,” Draco stuttered, and he went very red. Suddenly, she had a vivid flashback of one of her summers at the Burrow with Ron, and Ron's ridiculous reaction when Ginny had thrown a sealed tampon at him.

She'd never seen anyone scream quite that loudly or that high before.

But staring at Draco now, while he tried to work through his embarrassment for having forgotten something so basic, she was grateful that he seemed to be handling it a great deal better than Ron probably would have.

“I'll...I'll pick them up,” Draco said at last, his face still very red. “Er, do you have a preference to what kind?”

“I'll write it down for you, don't worry,” she replied with a small amused smile, “because of what Voldemort did to me, I haven't exactly _needed_ them for a long while, but I sort of do now.”

Draco nodded a little, and looked up at her with an apologetic frown while he winced slightly.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “it's just...it's never come up before, so I've never had to purchase such a thing.”

“I don't imagine that your mother was the type to ask you to pop to a chemist and pick hers up for her, eh?” she asked, and Draco's flush reasserted itself at once.

“Definitely not,” Draco replied as Cassie approached him and sat in the armchair opposite. She could feel his eyes following her every movement, and she could not decide whether or not she liked the feeling of being watched like this. The look did not carry the same hungry expression that Voldemort's always used to, but the longing in his silvery gaze was hard to miss.

They sat in silence for several long minutes, while outside it had begun to snow. It was awkward, but not painfully so, but at the same time, she found that she had no idea how to have a conversation with her once-enemy, now saviour.

“Have you looked at the memory yet?” Draco asked gently, and she immediately shook her head.

“No,” she replied, “I know that I need to, to...believe it, I guess, but I don't want to see _him_ again, either.” She shivered, and kept her gaze fixed on the babe sleeping in her arms.

“I think it might be good for you to view it,” Draco said, “it will help you get past it.”

“It should have been me,” she whispered softly, “I should have been the one to kill him. When did I get so...so... _weak_?”

“You're _not_ weak,” Draco replied fiercely, “you're one of the strongest people that I know. It's not _written_ that you needed to kill the bastard—”

“—yes it was,” she interrupted softly, and looked up to catch the blond's eye. “You saw Professor Snape's memories. _Neither can live while the other survives_. Trelawney had a vision, Voldemort chose me as his enemy, which means that _I_ was supposed to do it...”

“No,” Draco cut her off, and shook his head. “Nowhere does it say that _you_ had to be the one to do it. It only said that one of you must die...in the end. That...” Draco trailed off as what little colour was left in his face left it, and he dropped his gaze to his knees. There was a wide-eyed horror there that Cassie recognized immediately, and she almost wished that she didn't.

Swallowing nervously, she reached across the space between them and took his hand.

Draco started a little at the sudden touch, and seemed to debate with himself for a moment before he threaded his fingers with hers. He glared down at his lap, and seemed to be caught somewhere between anger and misery.

“I am thankful that he's gone, Draco,” she said softly, and squeezed his hand, “I just hate that you had to do such a thing. But, when the dust settles, as you phrase it...you'll be viewed as a hero. The man who defeated Voldemort.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Draco replied with a humourless laugh, and shook the sleeve of his robes down, just enough to display the hideous mark upon his forearm. “This... _thing_ will ensure that I'll never be seen as anywhere near that of a _good_ person, even if I did kill the Dark Lord.”

“To me, you're a hero,” Cassie said, and felt herself flush at the distinct breathlessness of her voice. Draco's gaze snapped up, his eyes a little wide, and she looked away quickly. “I just mean...you saved me. Voldemort made you do those... _things_ to me, and ever since I woke up here, you haven't tried anything, you've just taken care of me. I...I don't think I could ever thank you enough.”

The brush of a thumb over the back of her hand startled her out of her slight daze, and she looked back to Draco, who was regarding her strangely. It was the familiar look of longing and desire that she had seen many times before, but paired with it was something else, too.

 

Love.

 

Whether it was true love or simple affection it was difficult to say, but the look was still enough to make her heart flutter in a way it never had before. Draco shifted his grip on her hand, closing both of his over it for a moment, then lifted her knuckles to his lips, and brushed the back of them in a feather-light kiss.

He didn't speak, but continued to stare at her, as though he had no idea how to verbalize what he was feeling. Cassie felt a lump settle in her throat, and she looked away from her blond companion while she readjusted her hold on her sleeping child. She wasn't certain why she felt like she wanted to cry, and still at the back of her mind, part of her chided herself for such weakness.

“Cassie?” Draco said uncertainly, his tongue stumbling a little over the name, as though he was not quite used to it yet. “Are you all right?”

“I-I'm sorry,” she said with a small hiccough, while she pulled her hand away from Draco, and he let go at once. “I d-don't even know why I'm crying.”

“It's not really your fault,” he said gently, “estrogen makes you react that way.”

“What's that, some sort of hex?”

Draco stared at her, his eyes a little wide, as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

“Were you _born_ this stupid, or were you dropped on your head as a child?” he asked, and Cassie sputtered.

“Shut up, Malfoy,” she replied, and both of them smirked a little at the familiarity of the statement, “just answer the question.”

“It's a hormone in your body,” he explained, though his tone still indicated that he thought that Cassie was particularly idiotic for not knowing what it was. “Women produce more than men, usually, and you can sometimes get emotional more easily, it's not your fault.”

“I still don't like it,” she mumbled as she calmed down, and the swell of emotion began to recede, “it makes me feel...” she trailed off and shook her head.

“Tears are not a weakness,” Draco countered almost at once, “a true weakness is when you hide every emotion behind a stone wall, and you never let anyone in. Real strength—true strength is taking the chance of letting someone see the real you, and being unashamed of it.”

Cassie was uncertain what she could say to that, and merely nodded a little, while her gaze dropped back down to her sleeping infant. He hadn't been asleep for very long, but she was sure that it was only a matter of time before he woke, demanding another feed.

“There is something more pressing, however,” Draco said suddenly, and Cassie turned to look at him with an arched brow.

“And what is that?”

“Well, because you let your friends in on everything, they know you're alive now. I know they'll want to see you,” Draco explained without looking up. “Granger was practically having kittens when I told them that you were alive, but I was uncertain what you would choose to do when this was all over, assuming we managed to defeat the Dark Lord.” Draco paused and looked up at Cassie, his expression uncertain. “All they know is that you're alive, I haven't told them what the Dark Lord did to you, or what he forced you...or me...to do. They know that you're here, but they promised to keep their distance until you felt ready for visitors, but Granger still calls through the Floo practically every day asking for you.”

“I still don't know,” she replied softly, and her hold tensed on her child. “I feel so...confused about everything. In my head, I sometimes feel like a girl, and sometimes like a bloke, and I just...I don't know which is the real me anymore. A-and what if Hermione and Ron can't accept what I've been turned into, or what if they think that my child will grow up to be evil, like his father? And what if—”

A soft hand moved to cover hers, and the sudden touch caused her to break off mid-sentence. Her gaze shifted back to Draco, while he reached up tentatively, and brushed his fingers across her cheek. It tickled, and she felt her skin break out in gooseflesh at the minor touch.

“You are...so lovely, Cassie,” he said softly, reverently, “no matter who you choose to be, you will always be the same person at your core—passionate, loving, and, of course, brave to the point of stupidity.” He smirked when she laughed weakly at the comment. “They are your friends; and I cannot see them rejecting you just because you look a little different. Your child...he is still _your_ child. And they will know better than anyone that with you as his parent, there is no chance that he will grow up to be the next Dark Lord. As for whether you're female or male...” he paused, and a faint smile flickered at the corners of his mouth, as though he was about to let her in on some sort of great secret. “Who says that you can't be both?”

 

~*~

 

“Are you _sure_ you know what you're doing?”

“Have I _ever_ given you any reason not to trust me?” Draco asked rhetorically, and Cassie arched an eyebrow at him. “Don't answer that,” he said quickly, and she laughed.

“Well, my life is in your hands,” she said as she sank into the chair in front of the pair of them, and Draco snorted as he brandished his wand.

“It's just hair, don't be a drama queen. If I mess it up, I'll just regrow your hair and try again.”

“Somehow that is not helping with my confidence in your hair-styling skills,” Cassie replied, and closed her eyes as she felt Draco's angular, artist's hands run through her thick locks. It made her scalp tickle, and despite her reluctance to trust Draco Malfoy with her hair, she felt herself relaxing. The little weight of her son in her lap certainly helped, and she felt Draco part her hair and pin part of it up and out of the way.

“All right, here we go...”

Cassie screwed her eyes shut and tensed. At this, she heard Draco huff in annoyance, but he didn't speak as he began to mutter under his breath, and she felt some of the weight of her hair disappear.

It took a very long time. Voldemort had liked her hair long, and at all times it had been styled in an immaculate set of curls. Now, she could feel Draco hacking most of it off, and the weight of it lessened more an more with every passing minute. Eventually, she heard the soft sound of him putting away his wand and plucking up one of the homemade hair potions that he had brewed, and an instant later she could feel his hands running through her hair. Based on the way he was doing so, he must have cut off a _lot_ of hair, but she found herself not caring very much. It was freeing to be rid of it, but at the moment she was far too distracted by the gentle fingers running through her hair to focus on anything else.

“Cassie, you can open your eyes now.”

Draco sounded as nervous as she felt, and slowly, she cracked her eyes open. Her companion was holding out a round mirror, and the person that she saw staring back at her was so familiar, and yet so different. It was amazing, really, what a single haircut could really do.

The back and sides Draco had cut very close to the skin and rested flat against her scalp. The top of her head was longer and looked strangely windblown, artfully tousled where once it would have more closely resembled a bird's nest.

Beyond how nice it looked, the haircut made her recognize part of who she used to be. She could _see_ Harry Potter again, resting just below the surface of the feminine face that Voldemort had built. Overcome with emotion, her eyes brimmed with tears. Draco's face fell, and he whipped out his wand.

“Fuck, I'm sorry, I'll just—” he began, but she held up a hand to silence him.

“No, I like it, Draco,” she said quickly, though there was still a croaky quality to her voice. “Really, I do,” she continued when he looked doubtful. “I just...I can _see_ me again.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again, and she tilted her head skyward to try and stop them from falling, though at the same moment the bundle in her arms stirred, and she looked down to see her child waking up, and immediately reached out to pat at her chest while he babbled. Without missing a beat, she hiked up her shirt and allowed him to eat while Draco puttered about nearby, putting away the potions and pointedly trying to _not_ look at her chest.

“I've thought of a name,” she said in an attempt to distract Draco, and his gaze snapped up at once.

“Oh?”

“Davin,” she said, and he chuckled.

“Very fitting,” he replied, “I am certain your parents and godfather would have heartily approved of it.”

Cassie stroked Davin's locks as he suckled at her chest, and within minutes he was asleep again. She pulled down her shirt and adjusted herself, still distinctly uncomfortable with how _big_ her chest was. Draco had offered to help her try and shrink it, but until Davin finished breastfeeding, she wasn't keen to mess around with that part of her body—not yet.

Adjusting her hold on her son, Cassie lifted him up and followed Draco from the bedroom and back to the sitting room. Draco was frowning at her, though she could not work out what was causing the look of disapproval.

Cassie curled up on the sofa, her back pressed against the armrest as she gently laid down the tiny bundle in her lap, he resting against the dip where her thighs pressed together. She had chosen a short skirt today, but with the pair of black tights she had on underneath, she did not feel terribly exposed. Davin slept on, but reached out in sleep for her, and coiled his tiny hand around her index finger.

“He's very attached to you,” Draco observed as he kept his voice soft to avoid waking him.

“He is,” she replied as she stared down at him, and reached out a hand to gently brush her fingers along his chubby cheek. Her breath hitched and her stomach clenched a little, her fear returning as she was reminded again of just how much of Tom Riddle she could see in him. In an instant, Draco was there.

He wrapped both of his hands around her free one, and he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. Her gaze shifted to him, her eyes a little wide and shiny as she tried to calm herself down.

“He is _not_ the Dark Lord,” Draco murmured softly, “he is your son. _Yours._ Of your blood, your flesh, your sweat, and your tears. He is not going to become any incarnation of Tom Riddle.”

“B-but what if...?” she began, but Draco cut her off quickly.

“No,” he said firmly, “Cassie, listen to me.” She refocused her attention on the young man, and tried to blink away her frightened tears. “He is not Tom Riddle, no more are you Petunia Dursley.”

“How do you know her na—”

“—let me finish,” he interrupted, and Cassie snapped her mouth shut. “He is not the Dark Lord, and never will be. Would you really push away your own child because of who his father was? Look at him.” Draco paused and let go of her hands, but her gaze was still transfixed on Draco, and it took a moment for his words to register in her mind. “ _Look,_ ” he said again, and she dropped her gaze to the little bundle in her lap. He was still dozing peacefully, his little hand firmly coiled around her finger.

“He is your son,” Draco whispered softly, “he needs you.”

A choking sob escaped past her lips, and she tugged her hand from Draco's hold and brought it to her mouth. Draco shifted closer, and Cassie adjusted her position so that she could lay her head on his shoulder. Tears continued to trickle from her eyes and dampened his robes, but he didn't seem to care as he sat there and held her, stroking her hair as she cried.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Davin means “little deer”.


	7. Part VII: Onward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just to clarify, there will be a jumble of canon-compliant and canon-divergent things from DH jumbled in this chapter. I don't want to say too much and turn this note into a spoiler, but I'm just stating this now so that if you get to that point and are like, HEY, THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN! Well...yeah. I know.

Part VII: Onward

 

Cassie did not know how much time had passed, but to her it felt like it must have been at least a few weeks, though it was difficult to tell. In that time, she had not once let go of Davin. As the days passed, he grew more fidgety and restless; he whined and reached towards the low table where Cassie and Draco took their meals together, and would let out a wail when she would tug him back.

One particular evening when Davin had one more reached for the table, only to be pulled back with a soft, “Davin, no!” from Cassie, Draco frowned at her, and carefully set down his knife and fork.

“Cassie, we need to talk,” he said with an unnerving, even calm. She guessed that he had spoken in such a manner to keep her from getting upset, but his words still managed to make her stomach knot with panic, and her hold on her son tightened.

“About what?” she asked, and Draco's gaze immediately dropped to the boy in her arms.

“Cassie,” he began, “you haven't let go of your son since he was born—not once. He's safe here, _you're_ safe here. No one is coming for you. It's all right to let him sleep in the bassinet by your bed, or play with his toys on the ground. No one will snatch him away from you.”

“Don't tell me how to raise my son,” she snapped coldly, “I won't let anything happen to him, not after—” she broke off with a frustrated hiss, and Draco's frown deepened.

“But nothing _will_ happen to him,” Draco said patiently. Cassie's expression narrowed into a glare, but Draco was undeterred by her attitude. “You're in a safe house that's as secure as Hogwarts was, if not moreso. He's getting older, and he won't appreciate being stuck in your arms twenty-four-seven. I'm not telling you how to raise him, and I _know_ that you're paranoid after what happened to your daughters, but please believe me when I say that both of you are safe, and it's okay to give him a little freedom.”

Cassie's gaze dropped down to Davin as Draco spoke, and she reached out to stoke his mess of untidy black hair. He blinked up at her, red eyes a pinprick of horror embedded in the chubby, sweet face of her young son. At the moment, his bottom lip was quivering dangerously, and he squirmed again in an effort to get out of her arms.

“Gang up on me, why don't you,” she muttered, and he squirmed again.

“Try it for five minutes,” Draco suggested gently, “I'll put up the Baby Barrier charm, and we can time it. Just let him explore a little.”

Draco's expression was open and hopeful, but Cassie still had her doubts. After what had happened to her first five, she was determined to let nothing happen to Davin. At Draco's suggestion, Cassie's arm tensed around her son, and he let out a small, discomfited cry.

“Come on,” Draco said gently, and he reached for her hand. Cassie regarded it for a long moment like he had a wand pointed at her, and with a slightly defeated huff, she accepted it, and he led her over to the threadbare carpet in front of the fire.

Draco knelt down and flicked his wand. Cassie watched as what looked like opaque, crystalline bricks built themselves around the trio, then they disappeared.

“The barrier will stop him from getting too far,” Draco explained, and gave her hand a gentle, encouraging tug, but she still felt reluctant to let her child go. “Come on,” he tried again with a small, humourless smile, “where's that vaunted Gryffindor courage of yours? You can _do_ this, Cassie.”

Taking a deep breath in an effort to steady her thundering heart, Cassie dropped to her knees in front of Draco. He smiled at her, and for a moment she was struck by how different he looked from the boy she remembered from their school days together. The open, welcoming smile in place of the familiar sneer she'd grown so accustomed to at Hogwarts was so strange, and it made him look almost like a completely different person. Her hand tensed in his, and he brushed his thumb over the back of her knuckles gently.

“It's all right,” he said softly as she faced him, “just one step at a time, we're safe here—you're _both_ safe here.”

Cassie let go of Draco's hand, and she looked down at Davin uncertainly. He was still squirming and fussing, and he was perched in her lap, both his little arms stretched out, reaching for Draco.

“Da!” he babbled, and opened and closed his little fists, while he let out a frustrated whine.

Cassie held onto him for one more moment, then with her hands badly shaking, she slowly and gently set him down on the ground.

The moment that he hit the floor, Davin let out a delighted squeal, and began kicking his little legs in the air, encased in a set of the green and white striped footie pyjamas that Draco had gotten for him. He rolled onto his belly and started wiggling around like some sort of strange serpent, apparently unable to hold his own weight with his little arms.

Cassie looked on with a weak smile while Draco chuckled with amusement, and as promised, at the end of the five minutes a gentle chime went off, and she moved as though to scoop up her son again, when to both her and Draco's surprise, Davin clambered into Draco's lap with another delighted giggle, and the blond's arms shot out to hold him in place and keep him from tumbling out of his lap.

“Da!” Davin proclaimed again, and reached up to pat at Draco's cheek.

“He's growing up so fast,” Cassie remarked with a small, sad smile, “I mean, it's only been a few weeks, after all...”

“Few _weeks_?” Draco asked and Cassie blinked.

“Er, yes?”

“Cassie, it's been nearly seven months.”

“Seven...seven _months_?” Cassie sputtered as she stared wide-eyed at Draco, “no, no, it's only been a few weeks since everything happened...”

“Look outside, Cassie,” Draco interrupted, “and tell me what you see.”

Blinking in confusion, she obediently shifted her gaze to the cottage's window, and she blinked bemusedly. _Was this some sort of test?_ she wondered, though she hadn't the faintest idea what Draco wanted her to say.

“Trees, a fox, one gannet,” she answered, and grimaced, “I don't know.”

“Yes, but, what _season_ do you see?”

“Summer.”

“And when was your son born?”

“Decem— _oh_. But...I...how?” Cassie sputtered as she whirled back to Draco, who was looking at her with a small frown.

“You went through something terribly traumatic,” Draco explained gently while he bounced the little boy in his arms, “you're mind is struggling to cope with all that you have endured, and it is doing so by refusing to acknowledge any more than it thinks it can handle. It's coming out in a form of disassociation, which is not healthy for you or your son.”

“I...” Cassie trailed off, and bowed her head forward as she dug her fingers into her hair. “what—what kind of mother just _checks out_ like that? How am I supposed to be a good mother to Davin if I just... _God,_ what if I can't do this? What if—”

“—Cassie,” Draco interrupted, and she jumped a little, uncertain when Draco had gotten so close. He held out Davin to her, who was now curled up in Draco's arms and beginning to nod off, but suddenly he did not strike her as her child, but more like some sort of dangerous animal. _How_ was she supposed to parent him if she was this messed up in the head? She inched back from Draco, but he quickly reached out for her and caught her hand in his.

“You're a wonderful mother,” Draco said gently, but firmly, “and you love your son, I can see it. You had something awful happen to you that wasn't your fault, and it will take you some time to get to a place where you feel normal again.” Draco paused, and shifted his grip on Cassie's hand, threading their fingers together, then he squeezed her hand gently. “You are strong, and you are beautiful, and you are a survivor,” Draco continued softly, “nothing as menial as five years of abuse was ever enough to break you, don't let those memories stop you now.”

“But—”

“—no buts,” Draco interrupted, and leant in to brush his lips against her knuckles. Cassie shivered at the way her body seemed to come alive at the gentle touch. “You can _do_ this, Cassie.”

“If I can do this, then why do I feel so useless?” she demanded weakly, “I somehow missed _seven_ months. I'm cut off in this little cabin with you and my son, I have no idea what's going on in the outside world, and I can't even—I can't even—” Cassie choked on her words, and buried her face in her hands with a small, frustrated sob.

Warm arms encircled her waist, and Cassie buried her face in the crook of Draco's neck as she wept openly, and he gently stroked her hair as she cried. She could hear him speaking, but she was too overwhelmed by emotion to do any more than idly listen to his empty reassurances.

“One thing at a time, Cassie,” Draco whispered softly when she began to calm down, and she shivered when she felt his lips brush her temple, “I'm going to get you a cup of tea, and I'll tell you anything that you want to know, all right?”

Sniffling softly, she nodded, and Draco kissed her temple one last time before he stood and made his way towards their meagre kitchen. While she waited for him to return, she flicked her wand and Summoned Draco's little plush dragon, and offered it to Davin, who had been settled down on the ground next to her. He squealed with delight as he grabbed it, and shook it delightedly above his head for about five seconds before it was whipped across the room, where it hit Draco squarely in the shins, who had been returning with their tea.

“Your son is going to be a Chaser one day, with an arm like that,” Draco remarked with a chuckle as he pressed the chipped mug that he had been carrying into her hands. He flicked his wand and summoned the dragon back, and handed it to Davin again. He let out another high, delighted squeal, and threw it again.

“Assuming he isn't arrested for his _Sins of the Father_ first,” she muttered, and Draco frowned at her.

“That's not something we'll need to worry about yet,” he said evenly, but with a note of disapproval at her attitude, “tell me what you want to know about what's going on.”

“First I want to know why you kept the fact that _seven months_ have passed from me,” she replied coldly, and punctuated her words with a sip of the tea. She took a turn summoning the dragon back, but it stayed in their general vicinity for about twelve seconds before Davin whipped it across the room again.

“I didn't keep it from you,” Draco replied with an edge of anger to his voice, “I had no idea that you weren't aware of how long it's been. I'm not like those so-called _mature_ adults that were in your life before; I wasn't trying to keep you in the dark, but there was only so much you could handle when everything first happened. You're strong, Cassie, but you're _not_ invincible. I didn't want to tell you more than I thought you could deal with, so I was waiting for you to ask.”

“Like now?” Cassie asked, and Draco nodded stiffly.

“Yes, like now.”

“What's going on, then? Are Ron and Hermione doing okay? The other Weasleys? What about the other Order members? What's going on at the Ministry? Have the Death Eaters been arrested? Do Ron and Hermione _know_ about me?” Cassie blurted it all out at once while Draco summoned back the dragon again, but this time Davin took it with a wide yawn, and hugged it close.

“They know you're alive, but aside from that, they know nothing of what the Dark Lord did to you,” Draco replied, “you were in no fit state to make any major decisions, so I haven't told them what happened yet—I didn't know if you wanted them to know or not. I've been mostly deflecting their demands to see you—I'm not sure if you feel ready to see them or not yet.” Draco reached up to rake a hand through his hair in a most uncharacteristic movement of deep stress before he continued. “They're alive, shaken, but alive. The rest of that family is fine, save for—”

“—Fred,” Cassie filled in, and Draco nodded solemnly. “What about the others?” she continued without pause, “Remus, Tonks, Hagrid, and everyone?”

“Nymphadora is dead, Lupin was in Azkaban until recently,” he answered, and Cassie felt mildly sick. “My cousin, your godson—we don't know where he is.”

“How d'you mean, _you don't know where my godson is?_ ” Cassie demanded, and Draco's frown deepened.

“Aunt Andromeda locked his Metamorphmagus abilities, changed his appearance, and left him at a muggle orphanage,” Draco explained, “with Nymphadora dead and Lupin in prison, all the half-bloods and mudbloods were being rounded up and enslaved or culled. They were afraid that they'd hurt Teddy, so they hid him away. With the Dark Lord dead, they've been trying to find him, but so far we've had no luck.”

“Why was Remus imprisoned?” Cassie asked, her gaze dropping to Davin, who yawned again, and held more tightly onto the stuffed toy. “Why wasn't he killed along with Tonks?”

“Greyback wanted him for their side,” Draco explained with a note of disgust in his voice. “ _Wanted_ him, mind you. If I understand correctly, he was quite keen on taking Lupin much in the same way that the Dark Lord took you—something about werewolf reproductive systems being a bit more complex and—erm... _accommodating_ than that of an average human. When Lupin wouldn't break, they sent him to Azkaban in an effort to wear him down, but his Gryffindor Obstinacy kept him alive and whole—more or less.”

“The others?” she quickly prompted in an effort to distract herself from the horrible images floating through her mind. Cassie shuddered at the idea of her last parental figure going through something like that, and found herself deeply grateful for his stubbornness.

“Hagrid, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Trelawney, and the rest of the Order as well as your _Dumbledore's Army_ were all imprisoned,” Draco replied, ticking them off with his fingers as he went. “I've no idea why the Dark Lord didn't just kill them outright, but they all survived,” Draco replied. Cassie sagged with relief at the news, while Draco reached for Davin, and brushed his fingers through the tot's thick hair. He yawned widely again, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled to stay awake.

“Let me bring his bassinet out here,” Draco suggested gently when he looked back up at her, “and you can put him to bed, all right? Then we'll continue this conversation.”

Draco was up and out of the room before Cassie could protest, and returned a moment later with the bassinet hovering behind him as he went. At the sight of it, Cassie felt her stomach turn over uneasily. Draco lowered it to the ground next to her, then knelt down and brushed his fingertips across her cheek in a light caress. She leant into the touch with a soft sigh, and Draco smiled approvingly at her.

“We're both right here,” Draco said softly, “and we can move the bassinet back to your room when you go to bed, you'll be able to keep an eye on him at all times, all right?”

Cassie hesitated as she stared at the thing. Davin had not slept in the bassinet since he was born—not once. Too afraid of what might happen if she wasn't holding him, she had slept with him next to her in the bed every night, her body curled around his like a shield.

But she had put Davin down once already today, and nothing _had_ happened, she realized with a small jolt—Draco had been right, Davin had been fine. Would letting him sleep in a bassinet really be _that_ bad?

Draco moved as though to remove his hand, but Cassie reached up and closed her fingers over Draco's to stop the movement. His skin felt hot—incredibly, almost unbearably hot, and in contrast, she felt cold, a coldness that seemed to derive from her heart, which had not quite thawed from her five-year ordeal at the hands of her enemy and husband.

“He'll be safe?” Cassie asked softly, and Draco nodded his head at once.

“We'll both be right here,” Draco repeated, “nothing will hurt him. He's completely safe.”

Cassie released Draco's hand, and with her limbs trembling slightly, she carefully lifted up the sleeping tot and carried him to the bassinet. It was barely a ten-second trip from the ground to the little woven baby bed, adorned with a little red blanket embroidered with the image of a lion and nothing else, but to Cassie it felt like she had walked a twenty-kilometre trek through the desert with no water. She felt positively sick at the prospect of laying her son down in the thing.

Draco seemed to sense her fear, and she jumped a little in surprise when he stood at her back, wrapped his arms gently around her, and lined up the appendages with her own. From this position, he gently guided her arms, coaxing her to lay her son down. He did not push or force her, merely guided, and every time she stopped or hesitated, he, too, would freeze his movements, as though overly cautious about inadvertently forcing Cassie to do something that she _really_ didn't want to do.

At long last Davin had been lain in the bassinet, and Draco stepped away from her to retrieve her son's dragon toy. It surprised Cassie just how much she missed the warmth of Draco's body enveloping her own like that. Flushing with embarrassment at her thoughts, Cassie watched Draco levitate the bassinet again, the small movement snapping her from her musings, and he moved it right up against the side of the sofa. He then headed over to their poor excuse for a kitchen and prepared two cups of fresh tea, then at last invited her to sit with him. There was something strangely attractive about the way Draco patted the cushion next to him as he invited her to sit, despite the fact that it was still far enough away from him that she wouldn't be overwhelmed or feel cornered by his physical presence, either.

Confusion continued to overwhelm her as she shuffled over to the proffered seat, and Draco eyed her quizzically as her cheeks flushed a faint pink.

“So,” Cassie said, as though there had been no break in their conversation, and quite keen to distract herself from her thoughts, “the Ministry? What's going on there?”

“I don't know much,” Draco replied, “bits and pieces of what your friends have been able to send my way. Shacklebolt is Minister, and many of the Death Eaters have been rounded up and imprisoned—including my parents.” Draco broke off when his voice began to quiver, and it was several long moments before he was able to speak again, though he seemed incapable of looking at Cassie as he did so. On impulse, she reached out and took one of his hands, and the larger appendage tensed over hers.

“Weasley and Granger have been trying to secure their release,” he continued, though he spoke in a tone just barely above a whisper, “since my parents spent so much time trying to help them, not the opposite. My mother will likely be released soon, but my father...it's more complicated. As a marked Death Eater, the public won't want him free, no matter what good deeds he's done in recent history. I'm wanted for questioning, and your friends have been feeding false leads to the Aurors. Since I've been helping you, they don't want me to be taken away and you left alone—Granger, at least. Weasley still seems to think I've got you hexed twelve ways from Sunday or some ridiculous thing.” Cassie chuckled a little at that, and Draco cracked a weak grin as he pressed on without pause.

“The rest of the Ministry is in shambles, from what I understand,” Draco continued, and he finally lifted his gaze to meet Cassie's. “Shacklebolt is cutting out all the bad elements, which means about two-thirds of the Ministry's workforce has been imprisoned, pending trial, and then, of course, there's the funerals.”

 

The funerals.

 

In all the chaos, Cassie had completely forgotten about that.

 

In truth, she didn't really want to know what had become of the corpses of those they had lost in the battle all those years ago. Had they received a proper burial, or had Voldemort just incinerated them like she'd seen him do to the bodies of muggleborns they'd 'experimented' on?

The thought of it made her shiver, and she looked away from her companion.

“There must be so many...” she mumbled, to which Draco did not respond—at least, not straightaway. His other hand moved to rest over Cassie's, trapping the smaller appendage between his two large hands. Where at one time this brand of touch would feel constrictive, now she welcomed it wholeheartedly—Draco made her feel safe in a way no one else ever had, which, given their history, was a very strange thought.

“Too many,” he replied at last, and Cassie shifted closer to him. His eyes carried a silent, haunted look, and when she moved to wrap a comforting arm around his waist, he appeared startled by the action, but a split-second later he relaxed and welcomed the touch.

Their conversation fizzled out, but neither Cassie nor Draco seemed to mind, and they sat in comfortable silence as the sun dipped on the horizon, and twilight set in around them.

 

~*~

 

Cassie went to bed that night alone for the first time since Davin's birth. Though the bassinet sat right next to her, it pressed up snugly against the side of her bed, she still felt terribly alone, and strangely vulnerable.

She tossed and turned, but sleep refused to come to her. She did not feel afraid in the strictest sense of the word, but she could not convince her brain to calm itself and turn off. Instead, it seemed to be stuck in a state of hyperaware alertness, and she was almost tempted to wake her son and lie him down next to her, but he was sleeping so sweetly with his little plush dragon that she was loath to disturb him.

A soft tapping on her bedroom door startled Cassie from her frustrated thoughts, and she turned to see Draco cracking her door open. He was very pale, dark circles ringed his eyes, and he was dressed not in a set of elegant silk pyjamas like she had assumed someone like him would wear to bed, but in nothing more than a pair of overlarge boxer-briefs that seemed to be made of black cotton. The strange angle that they sat at on his hips gave Cassie the impression that he had pulled them on in a rush, and she felt colour flood her face at the realization that that meant that Draco likely slept _naked_.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly, his voice hoarse as though he was still waking up, “I have a number of charms set up around the perimeter of your room from when you were still recovering, and I got an alert that you were in distress...are you all right?”

“I just can't sleep,” she replied with a small shrug while she pulled a pillow fast against her chest as she spoke, unable to look directly at the blond, unnerved and deeply embarrassed by the variety of enticing images her mind was supplying for her at the sight of Draco in so little clothing. “I'm not used to sleeping alone...without my son, I mean.”

“Give me one moment,” Draco replied simply, and walked away from the door. He returned not two minutes later in a full set of pyjamas and a dressing gown. He stepped into the room, sat down on the edge of her bed, and studied her for a long moment before he spoke again.

“Would you like a sleeping draught?” he asked gently, and his mouth quirked into something close to a smile, “or...I think there's a Dark Arts book in the bookcase on spirit summoning, I could summon Binns to lecture you on the Goblin Wars.”

“I don't think that'll be necessary,” she said with a weak laugh, “I'm not _that_ desperate—yet. Would a potion affect my...erm, milk?”

“It might,” Draco replied, his gaze dropping to her chest before his silvery gaze flicked back up to her face, his cheeks a little pink, “though most likely, it would do no more harm than making him a little drowsy when he eats.”

“I don't want to risk anything,” she said quickly, then bit her lip as a possible solution came to mind, though it filled her with equal parts security and apprehension. “Er...could—could you stay with me? I mean, just until I fall asleep?”

Draco stared, and Cassie felt her face flush scarlet at all the double entendres her words could imply.

“Are you sure that's wise?” Draco asked at last, though as he spoke he inched a little closer to her. “I mean, after everything with the Dark Lord, would sharing your bed with a man not spark bad memories?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Cassie replied, still unable to look directly at Draco as she spoke, “but...I trust you, at least, I trust you enough to not do anything I wouldn't want you to do, and I never trusted... _him_.”

“On your own head,” Draco replied with a heavy sigh, as though he was reluctant to test out such a risky theory. “Lie down, budge up a bit so that I can fit...I'm not as little as your son.”

Heart in her throat, Cassie lay down on the side of the bed closest to her son's bassinet, and Draco discarded the dressing gown before he climbed over her legs and lay down opposite her, leaving almost a full foot of space between them.

“Is this all right?” Draco asked awkwardly, a far cry from his usual composed self, and she nodded a little.

“Is it strange to feel nervous and comforted at the same time?” she asked, and he chuckled softly.

“In your case? I'd be more surprised if you were totally at ease,” Draco replied, and Cassie smiled weakly. He reached out and took one of her hands, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Sleep, I promise to behave myself.”

Cassie shifted closer, and fell asleep enveloped in Draco's warmth, and the presence of the young Slytherin, her former rival and current protector, chased away her demons, and for the first time in months, she felt a sense of peace.

 


	8. Part VIII: Family

Part VIII: Family

 

As Davin approached eight months of age, he had added a few new syllables to his vocabulary. This included, “Da,” to indicate Draco, “Ma,” for his mother, and “Tata,” which was his current name for every single type of human, animal, or insect that he saw.

They had begun to take short walks outside at Draco's insistence, claiming that the exercise would do them both some good. Draco always went with them, and as they walked, they would point out things to the little boy.

“Davin, what's that?” Cassie asked as she pointed to a squirrel darting up an old oak tree.

“Tata!” he proclaimed.

“Davin, what's _that_?” Draco asked, and pointed to a hawk flying overhead.

“Tata!” he cried again.

“How about that, Davin? What's that?” Cassie asked, and pointed to a very large bee that was buzzing lazily around some of the trout lilies that circled the cottage.

“Tata!” he said, and squealed with delight when both adults began to laugh.

Intermingled with these tender moments as she watched her son grow up, Draco would gently remind Cassie at least every second day or so that Ron and Hermione were still asking for her. When he was not bringing her two best friends up, he was commenting on the fact that she still had not viewed the memories that Draco had left out for her so many months before.

“I know it's scary,” Draco said one night as they both sat before the warm fire, while outside a violent thunderstorm raged outside, “but you seem to be stuck between healing and wallowing over what happened to you. It's not a sin to take time to heal, but I do think seeing _his_ death will help you to move past it.”

“I—I know,” she replied, and stared down at the mug in her hands, her tea having long gone cold, “I just...I don't want to see _him_ again. I—he...he did _things_ to me— _and you—_ and...I don't know if I can face him.”

“You aren't alone,” Draco reminded her, “I can come into the memory with you.”

“You can't,” she said at once, “someone needs to be here to watch Davin—I couldn't bring him with me, I don't want him to ever see something like that. I won't do that.”

“Okay,” Draco replied at once, his voice steady and reassuring, “I'll watch him whenever you decide to view the memory. I know I'm repeating myself, but facing this, rather than hiding away from it...in the long run, it _will_ help you, Cassie.”

“I don't doubt that,” she replied, “just...not yet.”

“All right, that's okay,” Draco said, though something in his tone told Cassie that it was very much _not_ okay. “Now...your friends. Granger and Weasley have been uncharacteristically patient in all this, but I'm beginning to get the feeling that if they don't see you soon, they'll threaten to attempt to storm this safe house with the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix in tow. What would you like to do?”

“I don't really want to see them,” Cassie mumbled without looking up, “they're still my friends, I still love them, but...” her tone of voice trembled a little as she trailed off, and she took a small breath in an effort to calm down before she continued. “I—I feel like if I see them...what if they can't accept this new me? What if they can't accept Davin? What if they hate me for letting Voldemort do those...those _things_ to me?”

A choking sob escaped her before she could stop it, and she brought her free hand to her mouth as a single tear dripped down her cheek. Like every other time where Cassie began to feel as though the world was caving in around her, in an instant, Draco was there.

Draco knelt in front of her, and wiped away her tears with a handkerchief. He then handed it to her, and she accepted it as she hiccoughed and trembled, struggling to get a handle on her surging emotions.

“I'm so t-tired of crying,” she mumbled as she dabbed at her eyes, and the dampened piece of fabric came back black as her eye-makeup began to run.

“Crying is not a weakness,” Draco said gently, a phrase she had heard from him at least half a dozen times lately. He shifted, and moved to sit next to her. Immediately she closed the distance between them, and Draco embraced her readily. She did not miss the soft, contented sigh that escaped his lips as he held her. “What happened to you was not your fault. It was something that was done _to_ you. You did not ask for it. I do not believe for a second that they would blame your encounters with the Dark Lord on you. As for the other things...” Draco trailed off, but continued to hold her and rub her back as they sat there, and it was a long moment before he spoke again.

“I do not know them nearly as well as you do, but I cannot see them rejecting you or Davin. Regardless who his father—er— _other_ father was,” Draco paused, as though uncertain which familial title to use, but pressed forward before she could react to his phrasing one way or the other. “He's still _your_ son, and I am certain that that will be enough for them.”

“But what if it isn't?” Cassie asked desperately, “what if they take my son away from me? What if they bring him to the Ministry and—and—”

“Cassie,” Draco said as his hands moved to squeeze her shoulders, and his firm, almost commanding tone drew her full attention to him. “Take a deep breath, all right? You need to calm down. I know you're scared, but if you panic, it will be harder for you to think all this through rationally.”

Still shaking a little, Cassie nodded once and closed her hand in a tight fist around the handkerchief that she still held. She did as she was told and took a slow breath, but she still felt afraid and overwhelmed.

Draco shifted closer to her, close enough that the outside of their thighs brushed together, and she felt her heart jump into her throat. What was more surprising to her than anything else was how this close, almost intimate (albeit accidental) touch did not scare her—not how it once may have.

“What do Ron and Hermione know about...about me?” Cassie asked at last, and shifted to close the distance between them. Almost as though on instinct alone, Draco wrapped an arm around her waist and held her close.

“Nothing, except for the fact that you're alive,” he replied, and Cassie did not miss the way his breath seemed to catch when she rested her head on his shoulder as she silently sought comfort from this closeness. “I phrased it as you're not the same person that you once were, and left it at that. I was waiting for you to tell me if and when you wanted your friends to know about your new identity.”

“That certainly is _one_ way of putting it...” she mused, and heaved a sigh. “I know that I need to see them, and all these _'what if's_ are driving me mad. Just...what if they can't accept me...this...?”

“At least you'll know,” Draco replied gently, “then you can stop fretting over it. Your circle of friends does not begin and end with those two. You have other friends, and you don't have to be Harry Potter anymore if you don't want to. You could assume the identity of Cassie, and make new friends. You look different enough from the press photos of...well, you as the Dark Lord's consort that I doubt anyone would make the connection...”

“Somehow, that's not making me feel better,” she mumbled, and pressed her cheek harder against Draco's sharp shoulder. The blond's hand slid up her back and buried itself in her hair, and she let out a soft, contented sigh at the comforting touch.

“One thing at a time,” Draco said, “we'll introduce your friends to the new you—soon, but when you feel ready for it, all right?”

Cassie felt both cornered and reassured by his words. She trusted Draco's judgment; she knew that he would not force her to do something that she really did not feel ready to do, and she knew that he was right in that she needed to face her friends, and soon.

“All right,” she said at last, and Draco's look of concern shifted to an approving smile.

 

~*~

 

It was another fortnight before Cassie felt completely ready to face Ron and Hermione, and in that time her subconscious was plagued by nightmares that were quick to evolve into full-blown night terrors. It only took one experience of Cassie wandering into Draco's bedroom in a sleep-walking state, stopping at the end of his bed, and then proceed to scream bloody murder before he migrated once more to her bed, and held her as she slept.

As it had before, Draco's presence calmed her more effectively than any potion ever could. There was nothing sexual in the act, and this secondary fact helped Cassie to feel completely safe with another adult body in bed next to her. Draco was always careful to keep from crowding her those nights when she needed him nearby, and often it was only their hands that were intertwined. If this in any way bothered her companion, Draco never let on one way or the other.

 

When the day finally came that she was to see Ron and Hermione again, Cassie was a complete nervous wreck. Her hands shook, she changed her clothes five times—first in a wholly masculine outfit that concealed her new curves, then in something highly feminine. Her following three outfits were an even mix, and Draco finally stepped in when she broke down and began to cry. Without a word, he gathered her in his arms, and she clutched to him while she trembled and tried to get a handle on her emotions.

“I don't know if I can do this...” she mumbled weakly, and Draco's hold on her tightened slightly.

“You _can,_ Cassie,” Draco said firmly, “you're selling yourself short, you're stronger than you know.”

“But—”

“—no,” Draco interrupted, his tone more firm than she had ever heard it. “You can do this, and you will. You're scared, I know, but you have no need to be. You'll get through this, and if Granger or Weasley try anything funny, we'll just have to hex them. I know this handy little one that turns its victim into a giant blueberry...”

“You do not, you liar,” she cut in with a giggle, “you're making it up.”

“Well, I may have had some help coming up with the idea, but I do need to test out this hex on _someone..._ ”

“I'm never telling Davin another muggle children's story with you in the room ever again,” she replied with a small laugh, and at last began to pull away from Draco, and he let got of her at once. “God, I must look so scary,” Cassie said, and turned to look in her vanity mirror, to find that indeed her eye-makeup was running, and she now closely resembled a raccoon.

“You look beautiful,” Draco said at once, “you always look beautiful.”

Cassie paused and turned back to him, but his expression did not change, and he looked wholly unashamed of his proclamation.

“Shut up,” she said with a smile and no real venom before she turned back to the mirror to fix her makeup.

As Cassie sat before the vanity, she could feel Draco's eyes on her, and it struck her as strange that his staring did not unnerve her—not like how Voldemort's used to. He stepped up to her and watched her apply the small amount of makeup by hand, and the corner of his mouth was twitching as though he was trying to keep from smiling.

“Is something funny?” she asked as she finished up and turned back to him. Chuckling, he shook his head once.

“Not funny, no, just...you. You were so distraught about the feminine parts of you when you first woke up, and now more and more you seem to be gravitating towards it,” Draco said simply, “it's not a bad thing—or a good thing, for that matter, it just sort of _is._ It's only surprising because you never struck me as all that effeminate in school.”

“I didn't exactly have the time explore that part of me, in any case,” she replied dryly, “what with battling basilisks and giant spiders, and being shunted into deadly tournaments, and being hunted down by a mad dark wizard...it doesn't leave a whole lot of space to explore your gender or sexuality very much.”

“This is true,” Draco replied with a small chuckle, “you better give Davin a feed soon, your friends should be here within the hour, and I don't imagine you'd want to breastfeed in front of them...”

“No, I don't fancy Ron gawking at my tits,” she replied, and Draco snorted in a most undignified matter as she stood up and moved over to the bassinet to wake her son from his nap.

 

Forty-five minutes later, Cassie was seated on the sofa, with Davin at her feet babbling happily, a red wooden block in one hand, and his dragon in the other while they waited for Ron and Hermione to arrive. Cassie was a tangle of nerves, and Draco did not seem to be faring much better as he sat there, twisting a handkerchief through his fingers while he stared intently at the empty fire grate.

“Is what I'm wearing okay?” she asked nervously in an effort to break the silence, “I mean...it's not too—too revealing or anything? Should I change?”

Draco looked her up and down critically, from the fitted but not overly tight black tank top she wore, the straps not the thin and flimsy kind her former husband would have made her wear, but about an inch thick, and did not make her feel overly exposed. With it she was wearing a pair of women's boot-cut jeans. Her hair had been styled by Draco, who seemed to have a knack for that sort of thing, and the short, curly locks appeared artfully tousled and windswept, much like it had the first time he'd styled it for her.

Without a word, her companion reached forward and adjusted the way the top sat on her ample chest, casually hiding the edge of her bra from view, and she felt herself flush as he did so.

“You look fine, Cassie,” he said gently, and moved his hand to cover hers. She immediately turned her hand over so that their palms touched, and she squeezed his larger hand tightly, a gesture he immediately returned.

At the same moment, the fireplace suddenly flared a familiar emerald green, and Davin squealed in delight at the sudden whirl of colour. He dropped his toys and lurched towards the light, but Cassie scooped him into her lap before he could get very far.

As the two people that had tumbled out of the fire grate righted themselves, Cassie's hold on her son tightened. His weight in her lap was anchoring, much like Draco's presence always was, and with both Davin and Draco so close, she began to feel as though she really _could_ get through this.

Hermione and Ron looked both exactly the same, and very different all at once. Hermione's hair was much longer, more stylized that it used to be, and it was pulled back from her face in a long braid that trailed down to the small of her back. Her shoulders were hunched forward in a similar way to how she held herself while at school burdened with the weight of a dozen or so heavy books, but this was different—Cassie could also recognize it easily as a depression-induced form of body language, as though the weight of the world was too much for Hermione to sit up straight.

Ron, on the other hand, looked strong, and not like he'd been held captive for years—first at Azkaban, then later at the Malfoy Manor. His hair was long and fell in a wave to his shoulders, and there was a long thin scar that cut vertically across his left eye, and the iris was no longer blue, but seemed to be covered in some sort of thin white film. This seemed to be the only imperfection he bore—he was broad-shouldered, his robes hugged him snugly, and Cassie had to wonder just what he had been up to that would cause such a change in his physique.

The moment the pair had straightened themselves out and turned towards Draco and Cassie, she felt her stomach clench again, and she held her breath as she met their stares. Hermione looked positively horrified, while Ron looked confused.

“Er...hi, guys,” Cassie said at last, and Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears.

“Oh, _Harry..._ ” she said softly, “is that really you?”

“Er...it's—it's Cassie now,” she said awkwardly, and dropped her gaze to her son, who was staring at the pair with wide, curious eyes. “And...and this is D-Davin.”

“And he's You-Know-Who's kid?” Ron asked bluntly, his eyes wide, and Cassie winced.

“He's _my_ son, Ron,” she cut in icily, and Ron took his turn to cringe at her tone, “I don't care who his father was, he's still my son.”

“I'm sorry, Harry, er—Cassie,” Ron said quickly, and raised his hands in surrender, “I just mean...how can you even look at him, after how he came to be here?”

“It was hard at first,” she admitted while the pair stepped forward uncertainly, and Draco motioned to the available armchairs, which they took quickly. “For a long time, I could only see Tom Riddle in his face—and it took me ages to name him, but now...all I see is Davin. My _son_.”

“He has your hair,” Hermione offered with a small smile, “all over the place, I mean. He's so cute, Ha—Cassie.”

“Thank you,” she replied while she smiled weakly.

“Da!” Davin babbled, and immediately Draco held out his arms for the tot, who squeaked with delight as Cassie passed him over. Draco bounced him in his lap, and Cassie turned uncertainly back to her friends. Without the child in the way, Ron's eyes immediately dropped to her chest, then flicked back to her face, but it was only a matter of seconds before his gaze fell again. She narrowed her eyes in annoyance and crossed her arms, and Ron's ears went as red as his hair.

“What do you plan to do now, er, Cassie?” Hermione asked timidly, “I mean, about your...um, physique? Have you tried to break You-Know-Who's transfigurations?”

“Draco tried, back when we first got here, and—er, I have it on good authority that a lot of what he did is sort of sealed in my blood,” she said, thinking back to what Dumbledore has said in that vision, or halfway place, or whatever it had been. “A lot of it is pretty irreversible.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Hermione said consolingly, and Cassie shook her head a little.

“Don't be sorry, Hermione,” she replied, “I've had five years to get used to this body, and in all honesty, it feels more comfortable than how I had been when I was just Harry.”

“Do you mean...are you saying that you're a Trans Woman?” Hermione asked, and Cassie shrugged.

“I have no idea, honestly,” she said simply, but the short answer, predictably, did not seem to be enough for her old friend, who seemed to be on the cusp of asking another question as Cassie quickly elaborated, “adding labels to all this... _stuff_...it makes it more confusing for me, not less. I'm just Cassie now, and I'm content to leave it at that. If I decide later on to go back to Harry, I can always try, but...that feels like going backward, not forward.”

“Even if it's an identity You-Know-Who gave you?” Ron asked curiously, this time, thankfully, he kept his eyes on her face. “I mean...you're really...erm...well...I just mean, You-Know-Who sort of made you what you are, how can you be so accepting of it?”

“Voldemort didn't make Cassie,” she replied patiently, “Voldemort made _Cassiopeia_. Draco helped me find that balance between who I was, what Voldemort made of me, and who I am now. I'm okay with it, really. I mean, in some ways, Voldemort also made Harry—me—who I was. He's always been this sort of shadow hanging over my life, but he's gone now, and I can finally just be me, whoever that happens to be.”

Hermione smiled at Cassie's explanation, but she wasn't entirely certain what Hermione was so pleased about. She returned the smile nonetheless, and ever so slowly, they relaxed into familiar, albeit somewhat awkward conversation.

 

The afternoon passed slowly, and Cassie gradually grew more comfortable in Ron and Hermione's presence. When Hermione nervously requested permission to hold Davin, Cassie allowed it readily, and passed her boy over.

“Oh, look at you!” Hermione cooed as she lifted up the eight-month-old, “you're so _big_! Are you a good boy for your mummy?” Davin giggled as Hermione bounced the boy on her knee, and Hermione's smile brightened even further. “I suppose I'm your Auntie Hermione, can you say _Hermione_?”

“Haaa!” said Davin.

“Her-my-oh-knee,” replied Hermione.

“Tata!” Davin answered, and patted Hermione's arm. She regarded Cassie and Draco oddly when both of them started to laugh.

“It's his word for pretty much anything that's not an inanimate object,” Cassie explained between giggles, “but usually he reserves it for animals and insects.”

“Ohh, Davin!” Hermione cooed at the little boy again, “I'm not an animal! I'm a people—er, _person_. Maybe you need to start small, like Grawp? Can you call me Hermy?”

Hermione went very pink when everyone snorted at that.

 

Despite Hermione's best efforts, Davin did not miraculously begin to speak full words for her, but managed to call her, “Hama,” which was, in Hermione's estimation at least, better than _Tata_.

“Oh, he's so cute,” Hermione said for what was likely the fifteenth time as she passed the little boy back to Cassie, “and he might grow out of his Tom Riddle looks, you know, or you could always do a Blood Adoption—”

“Blood Adoption?” Cassie interrupted, and cocked her head to the side, “what's that?”

“It's an old Pureblood practice,” Draco filled in as he eyed Hermione with vague surprise, as though he had not expected her to know about such a thing. “It's a potion that's strictly controlled by the Ministry, and it's usually reserved for children that were conceived under means of force—like Davin. It's to minimize the chances that the mother will reject her child in the event that she chooses to keep it. It erases the physical attributes of one of the parents, and replaces it with characteristics of someone else. In this case, you would choose someone to act as the father figure, and it would take away the physical similarities to the Dark Lord.”

Cassie's arms tensed around her son, and it was only when Davin let out a squeak of discomfort did she relax her hold on him, and looked down.

“I don't think I could ever do that,” she murmured softly as she reached out to touch her son's hair, and he grabbed hold of her fingers. “What sort of message is that sending to a child...to hide their parentage from the world like that? And if they find out later who their _real_ parent was? I—no. No way. He'd never trust me again if I did that.”

“Cassie, no one is suggesting that you do that to Davin,” Draco said gently, and shifted closer to rest one of his hands over her fingers that were intertwined with her son's. “We're just...discussing it. Right, Granger?”

“R-right,” Hermione said quickly, her wide-eyed expression of alarm Cassie found a little unsettling, though she could not pinpoint why. “No one would force you to do anything like that. I just thought...it might be easier...”

“Easier for whom?” Cassie asked, her tone shifting from panicked to dangerously cold. “I can't hide his parentage from him, it wouldn't be fair. I had no idea I was a wizard until Hagrid told me—I knew nothing of my parents for a long time, except for snippets here and there from Remus and the others. I won't let Davin grow up with no clue who his father was. When he's ready, I'll tell him everything, but I refuse to do anything that would make him think that he should be ashamed of where he came from. He's _my_ son, too. Not just Voldemort's. He'll grow up loved and cared for, anyone who would hold his parentage against him will get to taste the end of my wand.”

 

~*~

 

When Hermione and Ron left that evening, Cassie had no idea whether the visit had gone well or not.

One some levels, it seemed to have gone swimmingly—Hermione was completely besotted with Davin, Davin also managed to survive Ron holding him (for about three seconds before he panicked and passed him back to Cassie), but on others, she wasn't so sure.

It wasn't in words or even overt actions that caused her doubts to manifest, but in little moments when the conversation would peter off, and silence would fall between them. Ron seemed wholly unable of seeing Cassie as both Harry _and_ Cassie, and seemed to see only a young woman who was a complete stranger to him. Hermione, to her credit, was trying, but she, too, seemed as though she had no idea how to act around her.

Cassie heaved a sigh, and stared out the window at the misty rain that dotted the window.

Her meditation lasted only a few minutes before she heard Draco shuffle back into the sitting room, and he moved to her side.

“Is he down?” she asked, and Draco smirked a little.

“For now,” he replied, “he'll be up soon enough.” Draco paused and wrapped an arm around Cassie's waist, and she willingly leant into the touch. “Maybe soon we'll see a true miracle, and he'll actually sleep through the night for once.”

“Hmm, wishful thinking,” she said, and Draco nodded his head.

“Indeed. He's got your energy level, that's for sure.”

“He must be mine, then,” Cassie replied, and Draco chuckled softly. He turned a little, and coaxed her to follow his movements. When she was facing him, Draco coiled his other arm around her, and linked his fingers together at the small of her back.

“You did well today,” he said, “even with Weasley forgetting what level your face is at...”

“Be fair, these things are a little distracting,” she teased as she framed her chest with her hands, and Draco chuckled. His arm jerked as though he wanted to touch her more intimately, but Cassie felt his hands tense at her back, and they did not move.

“I just mean, it could have gone a little better, but it also could have been much, much worse,” Draco said simply, and Cassie nodded as she shifted closer to Draco. The movement was so fluid and familiar that she hardly noticed that she was even doing it, and instead she simply relaxed into the comfort of his embrace.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “it definitely could have been worse.” Cassie wrapped her arms around Draco's middle in a mirrored embrace, and she pressed her cheek to his chest as she returned her gaze to the window. Draco rested his chin on the top of her head, and they stood like that for several long minutes, before she moved again to look up at her blond companion, her lips parted to speak, but her voice was chased away by the sudden realization of just how _close_ Draco was to her.

She could feel his body heat—it enveloped every part of her, she could smell his cologne, and she could feel his breath tickle her cheek. None of these were new sensations with Draco—she'd come to find comfort in his close embraces instead of the fear such contact would have evoked even a handful of months before, but something was different this time. Cassie couldn't place what it was, exactly, but it was like someone had placed a pair of magnets in them, and she found her hands moving to his front, sliding up his chest to finally rest at the back of his neck. Her toes pushed her up so that she was almost—but not quite—at his level, and she found herself marvelling at just how soft Draco's lips looked in the dying light of the day.

And they indeed felt as soft as they had looked.

One of Cassie's hands moved to Draco's cheek as they kissed, and she felt as though she might weep—not out of fear or misery, but of joy. _This_ was what a kiss was _supposed_ to feel like—like she had been set on fire, like a dozen butterflies had been released in the pit of her stomach, like she wanted to sleep for a hundred years and jump for joy all at once.

“Cassie...” Draco whispered softly, mere moments before he pulled her in for another kiss, and she could feel his tears intermingle with hers as they drew the moment out.

When they at last parted, Cassie licked her lips, and already wanted to kiss him again. However, there was one thing she needed to do first, and Draco's closeness gave her the strength that she needed to vocalize it.

“Draco,” she murmured softly, and arched up to kiss him again, though it was far more chaste than she would have liked, “it's time, I think...I—I need to see your memories.”

 


	9. Part IX: Maybe Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Warning: This chapter contains of violence and mild gore. You have been warned.

Part IX: Maybe Memories

 

It was a balmy summer evening, and Cassie stood in front of the Pensieve, rocking on her heels as she stared down at the shimmering contents that were Draco's memories. Draco stood nearby, and Davin resting in his arms while he watched her prepare to dive forward into the memories she'd been avoiding for so long.

“Mama!”

The tiny voice broke Cassie out of her nervous reverie, and she turned to smile at the little boy, whose arms were stretched towards her, and his jewel-bright eyes wide.

Laughing softly, she stepped back from the Penseive and accepted her son from Draco.

“You don't want me to see those memories either, is that it?” she asked the little boy, and he patted her chest.

“Mama, Mama!” he proclaimed, and she shook her head as she moved back over to the bed and sat down, and tugged down one side of her tank top for a feed.

“You're supposed to be weaning him onto bottles, remember?” Draco said, a note of amusement in his voice as he sat down next to her on the bed, “the book said it's time.”

“I know,” Cassie replied with a gentle sigh, as she reached out to stroke her son's hair, “but it's just so comforting. Not just for him, but me, too...”

Draco wrapped an arm around her waist, and shifted closer until the outer sides of their thighs were pressed together, and he brushed a kiss against her cheek. She leant into the touch with another soft sigh, and closed her eyes.

“It's time, Cassie. You know that. I won't push you to stop breastfeeding by any means, that's up to you, but in the next three or four months, it might be a good idea to start weaning him...” Draco said, but trailed off when he noticed that she wasn't listening, her gaze trained on the glowing basin across the room while her arms tensed around her son.

“It's time...” she whispered more to herself than to Draco. She felt that Davin had had enough, and gently pulled him away from her breast before she adjusted her clothing and handed the child over. Draco took him without question, and rubbed his back while he watched with wide eyes as she strode purposefully back to the Pensieve. Without another moment's hesitation, she took a deep breath and plunged her face into the memories of Draco Malfoy.

 

Colour swirled around Cassie as she descended, a torrent of images assaulted her senses, and her stomach roiled at the dizzying sight; she clenched her eyes shut, and did not open them again until she felt her feet slam into the ground.

When she opened her eyes again, she felt no better. The sight of the manor's infirmary flooded her with terror—the house that had been her prison for so long. Being back, even in a memory state, was nothing short of horrifying.

It took a moment for Cassie to work through her fear enough to focus on what was going on. It was incredibly strange to see herself being held down upon one of the hospital cots, her body seeming to be seizing, while Healer Rook stood above her. Dark blood painted Memory-Cassie's inner thighs, and Cassie, unnerved, took a small step back.

“She's hemorrhaging!” the Healer cried, and he rounded on Draco, who looked even more pale than usual. He backed up a little, and Healer Rook's gaze hardened. “ _Draco!_ ” he yelled, and the Trainee Healer jumped at the sound of his name. “I need a Blood Replenishing Potion, _now!_ ”

Draco raced off, and Cassie followed him in a daze, realizing belatedly that given that this was his memory, she needed to keep him in her field of vision.

The Trainee stepped into the potions cupboard, and stood there for several long moments in complete silence. His eyes were wide and filled with terror, and he seemed to be trembling slightly. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he wiped them away roughly as he reached for the requested potion with trembling hands. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes again as he shouldered his way out of the cupboard and headed back to the main area of the infirmary, and saw the Healer brandishing a wickedly sharp knife very close to Cassie's swollen belly.

“What the hell are you doing?” Draco demanded, his eyes wide, and Cassie saw his free hand jerk, as though he was about to go for his wand.

“Stop yelling, Malfoy, I need to concentrate,” he snarled back at him, while with a dragonhide glove he smeared some sort of thin yellow salve over her stomach. Cassie's hands moved to her now-flat belly as she watched, her eyes wide. “She needs a cesarean section, but she's panicking, and so her magic is dangerously close to lashing out of control, I can't safely use the charm so I need to use the muggle method. I _know_ what I'm doing, Malfoy, but I need your help.”

Draco stepped forward, his expression dubious, while Cassie stayed several steps back, given that she wasn't keen to see a Healer slicing into her.

“I don't—” Draco began, but the Healer cut him off quickly.

“—no arguments,” Healer Rook snapped, “we haven't time. They will _both_ die if I don't get started. Take this,” he paused as he handed a towel to Draco, “once the child it out, I need you to clean it up and ensure that it's breathing while I make sure that we don't lose Lady Cassiopeia as well.”

Draco nodded stiffly, but he still looked doubtful as he set aside the Blood-Replenishing Potion, and Cassie watched the scene as with careful, precise movements, the tip of the knife sunk into her flesh, and the Healer cut a single long incision down her stomach, stopping just shy of her pelvis. Without a moment's hesitation, his gloved hands pulled the incision open, and extracted a blood-covered infant.

“It's a boy,” the Healer proclaimed, and she saw both the Healer and Trainee sag with relief.

“Thank Morrigan,” Draco murmured, while the Healer cut the cord and passed the child to Draco. Draco cleaned her son off while the Healer tended to Cassie's wounds, and he patted Davin's back until his first cry sounded. At the same moment, Voldemort swept into the room, and it was as though the very air had turned to ice.

“It seems I've arrived at the opportune moment,” Voldemort purred, and Cassie's vision swam, her heartbeat tripling in an instant as she gazed upon the face of her former enemy, rapist, and husband. “The child?”

“It's—it's a boy, my lord,” Draco replied nervously, and Cassie did not miss the way his arms tensed around Davin protectively.

“About time she produced a proper heir,” Voldemort replied with a chuckle, though there was no warmth to the sound. “Come now, Draco, let me see my son.”

“Give him to him, Draco,” the Healer said firmly, albeit fearfully, while he was still bowed over Cassie's still body—which was steadily growing more and more pale as the seconds ticked by.

Draco, to the command, looked positively terrified. Davin was still crying in his arms, clearly distressed over the tense atmosphere, but in an instant, Cassie saw everything change.

 

“ _Draco!_ I need you over here, _now!_ She's not breathing!”

At the same instant, Cassie watched as Voldemort crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

Draco didn't move, but Davin's cries quieted, and with another shout from his superior, he carefully set Davin down in the readied infirmary bassinet, snatched up the knife the Healer had discarded, and rounded on Voldemort's still form.

Ignoring the Healer's alarmed shouts, Draco lunged at Voldemort, and stabbed him in the heart.

 

Time seemed to stand still.

 

Draco stared down at the still, unmoving body, his eyes wide as though he could not believe what he had just done.

“Draco, what have you done?”

The voice of the Healer, his wand held aloft and pointed at Cassie's body, apparently casting some sort of stasis spell on her seemed to act as a catalyst of sorts, and Cassie watched as Draco snapped.

The young man placed both hands on the hilt of the blade and forcibly turned it, destroying the heart it was embedded in. Draco withdrew it, and with tears streaking his cheeks, he slashed at the Dark Lord, leaving deep, bloody gashes across his face and throat, his chest, and his arms. With each strike, a choking sob escaped his throat, something close to a scream, while blood splattered his clothes and flesh; only his tears seeming to cut through the stains that clung to his face.

Cassie pressed and hand to her mouth as she watched, shock and horror mingling together as the form of Lord Voldemort was cut down to barely a shadow of its former self. Draco continued to cry and hack at the body, until the Healer had to forcibly remove the young man, and even then, he struggled to escape the hold, the knife still held aloft in his hand.

“Draco, Draco, stop,” Healer Rook whispered, but Draco, still weeping, lurched at the body of the former Dark Lord again, flecks of blood on his cheeks intermingling with his tears. He was well beyond reason, and to Cassie he looked half mad as he screeched unintelligibly and thrashed against his superior's hold on him. “Draco, stop,” he repeated, “Draco, it's over, stop.”

Something about the words, _it's over_ seemed to resonate with him, and slowly, he slumped in the Healer's arms, violently shaking, covered in blood, and Tom Riddle was little more than a bloody pile of viscera and shredded black robes on the floor.

“Sweet Morrigan,” Draco whispered hoarsely, “what—what have I _done_?”

The knife clattered to the floor, and Draco whipped around to look at Cassie's still form.

“Lady Cassiopeia, is she all right?” he asked hoarsely, but by his tone, Draco clearly suspected the answer to be less than favourable.

Frowning, Healer Rook began to shake his head, but at the same moment, Cassie watched herself inhale sharply, and at the same moment, Davin let out a sharp, wailing cry.

Cassie watched Draco begin to sag with relief, when at the same moment, another figure came hurtling into the infirmary. Cassie tensed and backed away, momentarily forgetting that this was a memory, and thus she could not be harmed, but it was difficult to _not_ back away when Bellatrix Lestrange came barrelling into a room.

“I heard our fair Lady went into labour, and I—” she broke off suddenly, and her eyes went very wide as they fell to the bloody mess that had until recently been Voldemort. Even at a distance, Cassie could see the blood vessels in her eyes inflating, and she looked more furious than Cassie had ever seen her before.

Without pause, she rounded on her nephew.

“What did you do?” she hissed, and swept forward, while Draco, wide-eyed with fright, quickly scrambled backward, but not fast enough as her nails dug into his throat, and he cried out in pain. “ _What did you do, you snivelling waste of space? I know, I_ know _that you did this! This is the last straw, Mummy and Daddy won't be able to protect you this time, I swear it, you traitorous—”_

“—Aunt Bellatrix,” Draco choked out, interrupting her as he struggled for breath, “please, I didn't do anything, I didn't!”

“ _Liar_ ,” she snarled, and raised her wand to dig it sharply into his throat, and Draco winced, “you've committed treason, you've killed the Dark Lord and the Lady, and now _I'll_ kill you.”

“Mrs Lestrange, please!” Healer Rook protested as he reached forward to grab her elbow in an effort to pry her off of Draco, “he didn't do anything, it—”

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” Bellatrix shrieked; the Healer crumpled, and Cassie let out a small scream at the same moment that Draco cried out in alarm and shoved his aunt bodily away from him.

The older woman staggered back in surprise, her eyes wide at Draco's brazenness, but this time Draco was too quick for her, and he whipped out his wand.

“ _Crucio!_ ”

Bellatrix's high, pained shrieks filled the space, and like a chain reaction, Cassie heard Davin begin to wail. She rushed forward, and it was only when her hands passed through her infant son did she remember that in this form, she was wholly incapable of consoling him.

When Cassie turned back around, her heart pumping hard in her chest as she tried to ignore her son's frightened cries, and focused on the woman sprawled on the floor, twitching and shrieking, her body contorting into seemingly impossible shapes while Draco gazed at her with a horrifying look of calm upon his face, as though he was observing nothing more traumatic than an ant being crushed with a boot.

“ _Draco, go!_ ”

A sudden cry sounded, and both Cassie and Draco looked up at the same time to see Narcissa standing in the infirmary's doorway, her own wand pointed at her sister as Draco seemed to snap out of his daze.

He gazed at his mother for barely half a beat, then ran to the manger, carefully scooped up Davin, and grabbed hold of Cassie's limp wrist.

“Time to go, I think,” a sudden voice said, and Cassie turned to see another Draco standing next to her. She nodded as he took her hand, and he pulled Cassie out of his memories.

She'd barely landed back in the cabin before she rushed over to where Davin was playing quietly with his bricks, and he let out an uncomfortable squeak as she drew him into a tight embrace. Draco did not stop her, which was lucky, as she'd have no qualms about hexing anyone who tried to pry her off her son at that moment. The memories of Davin screaming were too fresh in her mind, and being so close, but unable to console him had been more difficult than she ever could have expected.

“Cassie?” Draco prompted after a few long minutes of silence, “are you...are you all right?”

“I don't know,” she answered honestly as she finally—albeit reluctantly—let Davin go, so that he could return to his play, “I thought that seeing— _it_ would help, but I just...mostly I feel like I want to puke.”

“Somehow, that doesn't surprise me,” Draco mused as he summoned a tea tray, and prepared it how she liked it before he pressed a cup into her hands. “It may take some time for you to be able to process everything.”

“When did you get so wise?” she asked, and punctuated her question with a sip of the tea, which helped both in calming her down and settling her stomach. “I don't remember you ever being this smart in school.”

“Yes, because coming second to Granger automatically means I'm something of a dunderhead,” he drawled, and she laughed. “I believe I was too busy trying to either get you killed or expelled for you to really take note of my advanced intellect.”

“This is true,” Cassie replied, her lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to not laugh at his self-involved remark as she shifted to close the distance between them. Draco accepted her at once and wrapped an arm around her waist as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

“An owl came while you were looking at the memory, by the way,” Draco said conversationally as he motioned to a folded-up newspaper and unrolled letter that had been set down on the mantelpiece.

“Oh?”

“It would seem that I'm being honoured for my contribution to the Dark Lord's downfall,” Draco said, though his mild tone made it difficult for Cassie to tell whether he was pleased about this or not. “Order of Merlin, First Class. The awards ceremony is in a fortnight, and I'm welcome to bring a...what's the term? A _plus one_.”

Draco turned to her, his expression unreadable, and she caught her ruby-red bottom lip between her teeth as he regarded her. Truth be told, even if she was off to one side, the idea of going out in public still terrified her. What if someone recognized them? What if _she_ was viewed as being as bad as Voldemort had been? What if someone recognizes Tom Riddle in her son's face?

Her string of worried thoughts were cut off rather suddenly by Draco's mouth on hers. She kissed him back without hesitation, and she reached up to cradle his cheeks, holding onto him the same way that he held on to her—as though they were precious to one another.

“I have a really bad idea, if you're willing to hear me out,” Draco murmured against her mouth, and she giggled a little.

“Dare I ask?”

“Well...in Pureblood families it's still fairly common to take part in arranged marriages, you see, and my mother and father had me set to marry this girl named Astoria Greengrass...she was a few years below us back in school.”

“Okay, what's that got to do with anything?” she asked, and Draco's mouth twitched into a small smirk, which wasn't exactly reassuring.

“Well, she died during the war, you see, her whole family was slaughtered by my aunt when they were caught passing information to the Light side. So I was thinking...”

“Oh, God, you want me to pose as her?” Cassie interrupted, her eyes wide, and Draco nodded. “Are you _completely_ mad?”

“It's been suggested,” Draco replied with a small shrug, “will you do it?”

“No.”

“What?” Draco sputtered a little as he stared at her, his eyes wide with hurt, “why not?”

“Because that's an insult to her memory, Draco,” Cassie replied, her mouth twitched into a small frown as she regarded her companion, who appeared genuinely perplexed by her explanation. “Seriously. I— _posing_ as her, just so that I won't be recognized? I wouldn't feel comfortable doing that.”

“It was just an idea,” Draco muttered sullenly, and refocused his gaze on the glowing coals in the fire grate.

“I could always go as just me,” she suggested, just as Davin yawned widely, and she scooped him up at once, “and just dismiss remarks that I look like Cassiopeia...”

“Is that a risk you're really willing to take, Cassie?” Draco asked uncertainly, “I mean, if someone _does_ recognize you...”

“I don't know,” she answered with a heavy sigh as she propped her son against her shoulder and rubbed his back. He yawned again and rubbed at his eyes with his little fists, and as she stood up, signalling to Draco that she'd be right back she slipped away to the room she shared with her son, and went about changing him into his pyjamas, checking his diaper, and tucking him in with his dragon. She sat next to his bassinet and hummed tunelessly as she rocked him, and soon he was fast asleep. She watched him for a moment longer before she stood and headed back out to Draco.

When she returned, Draco appeared lost in thought, his elbows braced against his knees and chin cradled in his hands as he stared into the empty fire grate. She settled into his side, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he held her close while he heaved a soft sigh, as though her presence was as grounding and calming to him as his was to her.

“Any other brilliant ideas?” she asked, and Draco leant back against the sofa with a soft, frustrated groan.

“I could always go by myself, but I don't like the idea of leaving you here alone, even _if_ things are technically over, and I also really like the idea of you being there for me...I've never been...praised in public like this. It's weird.”

“Welcome to my life,” she replied with a small laugh, “well...former life, I guess.”

“Oh how the tables have turned,” Draco said, and she laughed again as his arm snaked around her waist and drew her close. “Fourteen-year-old me would have loved it.”

“And how does twenty-three-year-old you feel about it?” she asked, and Draco laughed softly.

“Mostly unnerved, to tell the truth,” Draco replied, “it's a bit weird to be honoured next to people who spent most of their lives hating me.”

Cassie frowned. Despite the neutral front that Draco was exuding, she could feel his tension coming off him in waves. He'd helped her so much over the last few months, and now she was in a position to help him—except she didn't know exactly _how_ to help him, without possibly endangering herself or her son. Added to the fact that seeing Draco Lucius Malfoy insecure about anything—least of all being publicly honoured—was a very strange thing to see.

Haltingly, Cassie sat up and climbed into Draco's lap, her knees braced on either side of his hips. He stared up at her in confusion, but she did not verbally answer as she leant in and kissed him lightly. It still amazed her how such a small action could thrill her so much. Draco let out a soft groan as he once more wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close, and he deepened the kiss at once.

It was a far cry from the stimulus she'd grown accustomed to from Voldemort. It was intimate, yes, but tender and sweet, and made her feel almost punch-drunk as Draco led her in a number of sweet, dizzying kisses. His hands roamed up and down her back and massaged away any tense muscles that he found, which elicited a number of soft, contented sighs from her while they continued to snog.

Cassie was uncertain how long it had been, but after a while, she felt Draco shift under her, and she recognized immediately what he was doing—she had gotten him too excited, and he was trying to hide the evidence from her. Nearly eighteen years as a bloke, she remembered that sort of body language well, and she felt her stomach twist guiltily when she realized what she'd done.

“I want to come,” she said as she broke the kiss, and reluctantly moved to sit down next to Draco again. “As Cassie, I mean. As your—as Cassie.”

“And if they accuse you of being Cassiopeia Black?” Draco asked uncertainly, while he gazed at her with a dubious look in his eyes.

“Well...can I be Cassie Malfoy?”

Draco stared. His lips were parted, and his eyes were wide, as though he wasn't completely able to process his shock at her timid question. She reached forward and took his hand to illustrate that she wasn't requesting it just as a cover story—she _meant_ it.

With his free hand Draco cradled her cheek and leant in and kissed her lightly, and that was all the answer that Cassie needed.

 


	10. Part X: Whole New World

Part X: Whole New World

 

It had only been ten minutes, and already Cassie felt out of her depth.

It was far from the atmosphere she'd grown accustomed to over the last several months, and though she was nervous, Davin had never looked more excited.

His eyes (charmed green to match her own, just for the evening) were wide and shining; his head swivelled in every direction like an owl's as he tried to take everything in, while his hair whipped around in the gentle summer breeze with every move that he made. They were outside, in the garden of some important Ministry official that Cassie hadn't bothered to get the name of, and there were people positively _everywhere_.

Some she recognized—like Kingsley Shacklebolt, current Minister of Magic, Draco's parents, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, Hermione and all of the Weasleys (save one), and every member of the Order and at least half of the Hogwarts professors. Hermione noticed Cassie straightaway, and looked like she wanted to walk over to her, but at the small shake of her head Hermione stepped back with a small nod, and got on her toes to whisper something in Ron's ear. Cassie was grateful; already she wanted to go home, and she had begun to wonder _how_ she would get through this event in one piece.

As though sensing her anxiety, a warm hand found hers, and Cassie leant against her husband's side, grounded by his presence. As a momentary calm swept over her, Cassie allowed her mind to wander to a week earlier, and their quiet, impromptu, but _perfect_ wedding.

Well, _almost_ perfect.

 

~*~

 

_Cassie stood in front of her bedroom mirror, turning left and right as she admired the outfit she'd selected for the evening. Hermione, one of the witnesses to the ceremony, was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking worried. When her longtime friend seemed reluctant to spit it out, Cassie gritted her teeth to brace herself for something potentially (albeit unintentionally) hurtful, and she turned to face her._

“ _Something on your mind, Hermione?” Cassie asked, and Hermione's frown deepened._

“ _Oh, it's nothing, really, I was just wondering why you chose_ that _to get married in,” she said, and motioned towards Cassie's clothing. “I mean, aren't you worried that you'll regret not picking something...different?” Hermione asked nervously, while the expression in her eyes was apologetic, as though she knew what she was asking was somewhat on the side of rude, but could not help but voice the question regardless._

_Cassie glanced down at herself, uncertain what exactly Hermione meant. It was a muggle suit, certainly, clean, dark lines and a violet Ascot-styled tie, ending in a pair of her favourite black heels. A white gardenia had been fitted in the front pocket, and overall she thought she looked marvellous. For a moment, she wondered if Hermione perhaps meant why she'd opted out of dress robes, but then it hit her._

She means a wedding dress, _Cassie thought; the realization hit her so suddenly that it took her a moment to work through her surprise and find her voice again_

“ _Why would I regret it?” she asked, her voice calm and neutral, but even so Hermione winced as though Cassie had been yelling. “I think I look pretty good.”_

“ _It's just...well, don't women usually wear...dresses at their weddings?”_

“ _I'm not a woman, Hermione,” she said coolly, “I'm just me. I use her and she because it's comfortable for me, but I still feel like I'm both female and male, and neither at the same time. Even if I viewed myself as_ completely _a woman, I could still wear a suit if I wanted. It's not a law that I need to wear a dress.”_

“ _Oh, I know, but...” Hermione trailed off, but apart from appearing somewhat troubled, she also appeared to be deeply confused. “And are you sure about this wedding? I mean, you haven't been seeing each other for very long...”_

“ _Am I to expect this every time I see you?”_

“ _What?”_

“ _I mean, are you going to call into question every decision I make whenever I see you from now on?” Cassie asked, and Hermione bowed her head in shame. “I was held prisoner for five years, Hermione. Then, quite by chance, Draco stepped into my life. He could have turned me away, or ignored my coded message...a hundred different things. But, he didn't. He_ saved _me. He helped me recover, he helped me more than...more than anyone else ever has. I haven't words enough for how grateful I am for him. I care for him a lot, and maybe it'll work out, maybe it won't—that's_ life, _Hermione.”_

_Cassie paused, and moved to sit next to her friend on the bed, and heaved a small sigh, while she curbed the impulse to rake a hand through her hair in a nervous gesture._

“ _And if it doesn't work out?” Hermione asked timidly, “I'm not hoping it fails or anything like that, H—Cassie, I just mean...you've had so much loss in your life, I don't want to see you hurt, that's all.”_

“ _Then it doesn't work out,” she replied simply, “I don't want to be so scared of failing that I'm not willing to try. I care for him, I want Davin to have a father figure that is a good man, and he is that—no matter what he was in the past, now, he's a_ good _man. Children and animals are generally better judges of character than us adults...they sense things that we ignore. Davin adores him, I wouldn't be surprised if he starts calling Draco_ Dada _or_ Papa _soon; so if Davin approves of him, then that's all I need.”_

_Hermione, overcome with emotion, suddenly leapt at Cassie and pulled her into a hug. She squeaked, startled at the sudden touch, and immediately Hermione jumped away from her as she realized her mistake._

“ _Oh, Cassie, I'm so sorry,” Hermione sniffed, “I'm just...I'm so happy for you. Come on, let's finish getting you ready.”_

_Hermione held out her hand, and with a smile and a nod, Cassie accepted it._

 

~*~

 

“Tata!”

Davin's squeaky voice pulled Cassie from her memories, and she laughed as she watched her son squirm and wiggle in her arms, trying to get down to go to an elderly witch, who had a dog on a leash—at least, Cassie _thought_ it was a dog. The little thing looked no larger than a guinea pig.

The woman, who Cassie did not know, noticed Davin's antics, and tittered as she stepped over to them.

“It's all right, dear,” she said in a kind, if somewhat haughty tone of voice, “my little Fifi simply _loves_ children. He can say hello.”

Cassie rolled her lips together to keep herself from laughing as she caught sight of Draco mouthing the word, _Fifi—_ as though he could not believe he'd actually met someone who'd named their dog such a thing.

Cassie refocused her attention on her son and the dog as she set Davin down, but held lightly onto the back of his baby dress robes as he excitedly crawled towards the tiny thing.

“Davin, gentle now, you don't want to hurt...er...” she crouched lower and took a very uncultured look between the little dog's legs, “ _him_.”

Again, she swallowed a laugh when she saw her husband bury his embarrassed face in his hands. For the moment, she ignored him, and guided her son's chubby little hand to the dog's nose to allow him to sniff, then guided him in gently petting it. Davin let out a high, excited shriek, and giggled delightedly as he patted the dog's little head, while it panted and wagged its tail so hard that it was little more than a white blur.

Cassie had been so focused on her child that at first she had not realized that they had been drawing more attention to themselves than she would have liked, and a sudden camera flash made her head jerk up, and she saw that they had been encircled by a number of curious onlookers, all of whom were cooing over the sight of the toddler and the tiny dog together.

Draco, ever her saviour, swept in to gently disperse the crowd and distract the reporters while Cassie scooped Davin back up, and used her wand to rid both of them of the minor grass stains they'd accumulated while her son had greeted the dog. The older woman also straightened up and continued to smile at Cassie warmly.

“Lady Hecuba Constantine at your service,” she said as she held out her hand to Cassie, “and you are?”

“Cassie...Malfoy,” she replied, and bit back a grin as she said it—it had only been a week after all, and the idea of her and Draco as a real and proper couple was still new and exciting to her. “And this is my son, Davin.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you both,” she said kindly, though still with the same stuffy, aristocratic air to her voice, “you must be very proud of your husband—an Order of Merlin, First Class! That's quite an honour.”

“I am,” she replied and nodded a little, adjusting her hold on Davin as he began to fidget again, to which Hecuba tittered good-naturedly, “he absolutely earned it.”

 

~*~

 

_It was the first time since arriving at the safe house that Cassie was to properly leave its warding, and it both terrified and thrilled her in equal measure._

_Both she and Draco had decided ahead of time that letting a priestess into the warding could be asking for trouble, and instead they'd selected a point some five-hundred metres from the house in a nearby clearing. At this time of year it was ringed with ancient trees heavy with greenery, and smelling sweetly of wildflowers. Cassie could think of no better place for an outdoor wedding._

_When she and Hermione arrived, Draco, the priestess, and Ron were already there, with little Davin perched in Draco's arms, clutching tightly to his dragon, as well as Lucius and Narcissa, who appeared to be caught between pride and unease at Draco's choice of spouse._

_The moment that Draco set eyes on her, his gaze grew glassy, and he brought up one hand to his eyes, while his normally fair complexion tinged a faint pink. Cassie smiled bashfully, and began to make her approach, with Hermione at her side._

_When they'd made it before them, Draco handed Davin to Hermione, who propped the tot against her hip as she stepped back, and took her place next to Ron. Cassie moved forward and took Draco's hands, and the priestess raised her arms in greeting._

“ _Lord and Lady, here before you stand two of your kin, who wish to be joined,” she proclaimed, “acknowledge their union, and may it be blessed.”_

_She paused, and Draco bowed his head forward. Cassie mimicked him, and when priestess began to speak again, Cassie refocused her attention on Draco._

“ _Draco Malfoy, do you wish to bind yourself to Cassie Evans—” Cassie smirked at Draco, a look he mirrored at the false name they'd chosen as the priestess continued, “—in love, friendship, and fidelity, from this day forth until your death, in sickness and in health, in times of joy and of sorrow, in richness and poverty, for as long as you both shall live?”_

“ _I do.”_

_Draco's words rang true, and Cassie blinked hard as her vision began to swim._

“ _Cassie Evans,” the priestess addressed Cassie, but Cassie did not shift her gaze from Draco. “Do you wish to bind yourself to Draco Malfoy in love, friendship, and fidelity, from this day forth until your death, in sickness and in health, in times of joy and of sorrow, in richness and poverty, for as long as you both shall live?”_

“ _I do,” she replied, and Draco smiled at her._

_The priestess laid her long, narrow, birch wand against their interlocked hands, and a golden ribbon shot out of it, wrapping seven times around the intertwined appendages, and binding them together. The conjured satin felt pleasantly warm against her skin, as though they'd rested their hands in front of a crackling fire on a cold day._

“ _By my power, and before the eyes of the Gods and those assembled, I pronounce you...bound for life,” she tapped their hands again, and the ribbon disappeared. In its place on both Cassie and Draco's ring fingers appeared a pair of matching golden bands, with thin threads of silver woven into the metal. “You may now kiss.”_

_Amidst polite applause and Davin's excited squeals at the activity around him, Draco pulled Cassie close, and she wrapped his arms around his neck, holding onto him as their lips met. She could feel the bonding magic swirling around them, and never in her life had she felt more complete._

 

~*~

 

The sudden sound of a number of loud pops and bangs drew Cassie from her memories, and she saw Kingsley shooting off fireworks from his wand.

“Please, if everyone could be seated!” he called to the assembled crowd, “the ceremony will begin in five minutes.”

Cassie grabbed hold of Draco's hand and pulled him close, brushing her lips over his in a gentle kiss.

“Good luck, I know you'll be brilliant,” she said, and he smirked at her.

“Just who do you think I am? _Of course_ I'll be brilliant—I'm _always_ brilliant.”

Cassie threw her head back and laughed, louder and harder than she had meant to, but she was unable to resist—for the first time since everything had happened, Draco truly sounded something like his old self again.

Draco did not react to her laughter, but merely pulled her in for another kiss, and gave Davin's little hand a squeeze before he headed to the front row of chairs, where the guests of honour were supposed to be seated.

They had known, of course, that they were to be separated, but even this advance knowledge had not fully prepared Cassie for the act of following it through.

Without Draco at her side, Cassie felt alone and lost, and her arms were tense around her son as she feverishly looked for a seat as close to Draco as she could manage. In her near-panic and haste however, she had not been watching where she was going, and bumped into another person—a man with a young son, both of whom she recognized immediately.

“Oh, I'm sorry, miss, I didn't see you there,” Remus Lupin said kindly, while five-year-old Teddy held tightly to his father's hand, his opposite thumb popped into his mouth. Even though the last time she'd seen Teddy it was a solitary photograph of when he had been newly born, now he looked strikingly like his mother, from the bone structure of his face to his penchant for unnatural hair colours—violet—but his eyes were Remus's, a warm amber, like honey.

“It's—it's all right,” she said quickly, and took a step back, just as she saw Remus's nostrils flare and he eyed her curiously. “It was m-my fault.”

She turned to leave, her panic now beginning to make her dizzy as she cursed her and Draco's dual stupidity. They'd _known_ that Remus was to be honoured as well as part of the Order, and as a werewolf he'd likely recognize her scent immediately—her dead self of Harry Potter. Remus reached out and touched her arm lightly, but did not grab her. Her eyes whipped back to the older man, and her heart jumped into her throat at the recognition he saw there.

“What is your name, miss?”

“Please, I need to go—”

“—your _name, please,_ ” he pleaded, his tone sorrowful and hopeful in one, and she knew that despite how much she wanted to, she could not lie to the last surviving Marauder.

“Cassie Malfoy,” she replied, a tremor in her tone as she said it, and she saw Remus's shoulders slump a little in disappointment. Cassie felt her throat tighten with guilt at the sorrowful, lost look she saw settle in the older man's eyes—the look of a man whose last hopes had been dashed.

_I can't do this to him,_ she thought sadly, _he deserves to know. But what if he hates me?_

In a momentary spurt of bravery—or stupidity, she wasn't entirely certain which—she took a breath to steady herself, then took the plunge.

“If you must know,” she said, her voice trembling so badly that it was a miracle she'd gotten the words out at all, “my Patronus is a stag...I learnt how to do it during my third year.”

The effect her words had on him were instantaneous. His eyes bulged and his nostrils flared again, as though he was trying to be certain that he was not being tricked in some way by what his muddled werewolf instincts were telling him.

“Ha—”

“—It's Cassie now,” she interrupted quickly, “please, _please_ don't tell anyone.”

She did not wait for his response, but hurried to her seat, and this time, he let her go.

 

The presentation of the awards was painfully stuffy and boring, despite the seriousness of the matter.

Cassie tried to pay attention, for it was all people she knew being awarded, after all, but Davin did not enjoy sitting still for such a long period, and she had been forced to get up and slip away from the presentation a number of times when he began to fuss. She felt terribly embarrassed every time it happened, and as she wove away to a quiet corner to settle her son down, she always felt as though everyone was watching her as she did so.

By the halfway point, Cassie was beginning to feel as fidgety as her son had been, who was now (finally) dozing in her lap with his dummy keeping him quiet. However, at least with Davin sleeping in her lap she no longer needed to worry about drawing unnecessary attention to herself by getting up every quarter of an hour to settle him down, for which she was deeply grateful.

“The next recipient of an Order of Merlin, First Class, for his courageous slaying of Voldemort, the so-called _Dark Lord,_ at great personal risk to himself, Draco Malfoy...”

Cassie narrowed her eyes at the squat wizard who had been reading out all the names of the recipients. He had been droning on and on in a very Binns-like tone of voice, however, when Draco's name passed his lips, it came out accompanied by a sneer.

Draco acted as though he had not noticed, and swept from his seat, to the side of the stage, and strode across it smoothly. He appeared completely ignorant to the murmurs and titters of the crowd before him as the medal was pinned to his chest, and he stepped back to to his seat. His parents took their turns in being honoured shortly thereafter for their part in keeping so many prisoners safe during Voldemort's reign of terror and like Draco, there were a number of derisive mutters throughout the crowd. Cassie's hold on Davin tensed slightly as she gritted her teeth in anger.

_If these people knew half of what they went through for the Light side..._ she thought angrily, caught between the desire to defend the Malfoys, and the desire to keep quiet, unseen, and anonymous. The latter won out, and she settled for raging in her own head at the unfairness of the audience's reception of the Malfoys—her family, now.

The ceremony continued, and they went on to honour other members of the Order. Cassie's frown deepened when the tittering immediately ceased.

 

Unfortunately, her silent internal war seemed to have rubbed off on Davin, and he woke with a discontented whine.

Sighing heavily, she scooped him up and with an apologetic look to her neighbour, who had _not_ enjoyed Davin's constant interruptions, she slipped from the main area of the gardens and off to the side, and not a moment too soon as the dummy tumbled from his mouth and he began to cry— _loudly_.

“Oh Davin, shh, shh,” she cooed while she rubbed his back and rocked him, but the gentle words and actions did not calm him at all. She paced in the small segment of the garden, checking his diaper, checking to see if he was hungry, but nothing seemed to be wrong with him, until he uttered two wailing syllables, and she understood.

“ _Dada_ ,” he cried, fat tears streaking his cheeks, “ _Dada!_ ”

“Baby, you can't see Dada right now,” Cassie murmured in a soft, consoling tone, “come on, be good for Mama and calm down, please?” she pleaded while she continued to pace and rock him, her feet beginning to ache in the overpriced heels, and she kicked them off, uncaring if anyone saw. She wasn't trying to be glamorous, damn it, she needed to settle down her son.

Cassie did not know how long she walked with Davin screaming bloody murder, when suddenly a rustle behind her startled her out of her daze, and she whipped around to see Remus there, with Teddy still clinging quietly to his hand.

“Having some trouble?” he asked kindly, and Cassie frowned at him.

“I've got it, thank you,” she said stiffly while Davin continued to scream. She turned her attention away from the older man and back to her son, but kept Remus in her line of sight. He didn't move, but continued to watch her with Davin. “I mean it, I'm _fine_. You can go back to the ceremony.”

“Har—Cassie,” Remus amended, “please, I want to help. He's calling for Draco, right? Maybe all he needs is—”

“—is what,” she interrupted, her voice shaking a little, despite her attempts to keep it even so as to not upset Davin further. “A _man's_ touch? No, I'm _quite_ capable, thank you.”

Cassie found that she really didn't care much that she was being rude to her former professor and mentor—her mind was awash with panic at anyone touching Davin at the moment, especially not an older man that her son did not know. Remus did not appear hurt by her tone or brushoff, and merely nodded and turned to leave, when Teddy tugged on his father's sleeve, his thumb still perched in his mouth.

“Daddy, how come the baby's sad?” Cassie heard him ask Remus over Davin's continued wails, while Cassie continued to coo and rub his back, but it did nothing to soothe him whatsoever.

“He's not sad, Ted,” Remus replied in his familiar, calm tone of voice, “he's just nervous. Sometimes babies cry when they're in a new place.”

“Oh.” He turned back to look at Cassie and Davin, and let go of his father's hand to run at the pair of them, and pulled something from his pocket as he went. When he stopped in front of them, he tugged on the front of Cassie's dress robes to get her full attention.

“Yes, sweetheart? What is it?” she asked over Davin's screams, and Teddy popped his thumb back in his mouth as he held out the thing he'd been holding with his palm up, to show her a small packet of muggle jelly babies.

“Use your words, Ted, we've talk about this,” Remus admonished gently, and slowly, Teddy pulled his thumb out of his mouth.

“If your baby wants, he can have my sweets,” Teddy said shyly, “I like sweets, and they always cheer me up.”

“He's a bit little for those still, but thank you,” Cassie said with a weak, tired smile, “that's very kind of you.” At that same moment, Davin let out a tiny sigh as his cries began to peter out, and sniffling, he brought his little fists to his eyes. Cassie sighed with relief, and sat down heavily upon the stone bench that resided in that particular corner of the garden, and summoned her shoes back with a few casual flicks of her wand.

_Thank God,_ she thought as she slipped the heels back on, _I thought he'd never stop screaming._

“Oh,” Teddy said again, and retracted the gift, “when is he old enough for sweets?”

“He can eat some sweets,” Cassie replied as she rubbed her son's back, and he continued to rub at his eyes, “just not something like that, it would hurt his teeth.”

“Oh, well...when he's old enough for jelly babies, can I give him some?”

“Sure, why not,” she said with a small laugh, and Teddy's uncertain expression brightened at once.

“I'm Teddy, and that's my dad,” he said excitedly, and pointed at Remus. “I only met him a little while ago, but he's just as nice as Mum is...not my Mum-Mum, but the Mum that I growed up with. Daddy told me about my Mum-Mum, she was like me, a Meta—Matafour—Metaformagic,” he finished, wincing as he tried to get his mouth around the big word.

“Yes, I've known your dad a _long_ time,” she replied, and laughed a little when Teddy's eyes went wide with shock. “I'm Cassie, by the way, and this is Davin.”

“For how long have you knowed my dad?” Teddy asked, his tone a little breathless as he seemed to miss her introduction—not that she minded much. It was nice to have someone who _didn't_ know who she used to be, and saw her as nothing more than a mother with their child.

“A _long_ time. At one time he was a teacher, and he taught me while I was in school.”

“A _teacher_?” Teddy wrinkled his nose at the new information. “That's not as cool as a fireman. That's what I'm gonna be when I grow up.”

“A fireman, eh?”

“Uh-huh,” Teddy replied with a confident nod, “or an astronaut—something _cool_.”

“Well, Ted,” Remus interrupted gently as he placed a hand on his son's shoulder, “let's leave Mum and baby alone for a bit, yeah? You can talk with them after, if you like, but I think they both need a little rest.”

“Oh, okay,” Teddy said, though he looked a little reluctant to leave. “I'll save sweets for your baby if he gets sad again.”

“Thank you,” Cassie replied with a small laugh, while over the boy's shoulder she mouthed a silent _thank you_ to Remus. Teddy was sweet, but after Davin's fit, she felt positively exhausted. Teddy darted off, and Remus shifted his position to watch his son and address Cassie at the same time.

“Cassie,” Remus said, though his tone was odd, as though he still hadn't grown used to calling her by that name. “When you're ready, I'd like it if we met to talk—catch up, nothing serious. You can bring Draco if you like, but we all thought you were dead—I'm very glad to find that we were mistaken. Does anyone else know?”

“Just Ron, Hermione, and Draco,” she replied, “I'd like to keep it that way, for now, at least. I haven't decided if I want everyone to know who I was just yet. I'm sort of happy being just Cassie. Happier than I was before, at any rate.”

“I understand,” Remus replied with a short nod, “your father and godfather kept my secret for years, I would not repay them so shamefully by telling the others yours. You have nothing to fear. And...his, er, father?” he asked as his gaze dropped to Davin, who was clinging tightly to the collar of Cassie's dress robes. “Is his father who I think it is? Because he looks nothing like your...er, husband.”

“He's my son,” she replied stiffly, and wrapped her arms more securely around Davin, while also ensuring that she had a good grip on her wand, just in case. “That's all you need to know.”

“I understand,” Remus repeated quickly, and nodded his head. “I'll leave you be, I won't force myself back into your life by any means, but I would like to know you again, and my pseudo-nephew, of course,” he added with chuckle as Cassie smiled weakly.

“I'd like that,” she replied, and found herself mildly shocked that she actually _meant_ it, too. “Just...I need some time. I'm still getting back into the world, I'm not exactly ready for too much excitement just yet.”

“I know what you mean...” Remus replied, his gaze darkening as though he was overcome suddenly by a number of conflicting thoughts, and yanked back the collar of his robes to show her a circular scar at the hollow of his throat, as though someone—someone _human—_ had bitten him.

“A werewolf mating mark,” he explained with a bitter tone, “even though Greyback is now dead, it does not erase what he tried to do to me. _Believe me_ when I say I really do understand. I'll await your owl, and—oh,” he said suddenly, “er, sorry, but if you'll excuse me, I need to stop my Mini-Marauder from climbing onto the buffet table.”

Remus darted off amidst Cassie's amused giggles, and she could see from where she sat that Teddy was indeed trying to clamber up onto the table where the chocolate fountain had been set up. She watched as the older man scooped his son up, and showed him how to dip the available fruit in the cascade of chocolate, and she found herself wholly unsurprised when Teddy stuck his whole hand in, though when he did not cry out in pain from dunking his hand in molten milk chocolate, she had to assume that it had been charmed to not burn the guests.

 

“Cassie, there you are!”

The sudden breathless voice drew her from watching Remus, and she beamed when she saw Draco standing there, his Order of Merlin glinting on his chest, and a look of relief in his eyes. Immediately, Davin perked up and reached for Draco.

“Dada!” he cried excitedly, and squirmed in Cassie's hold, “Dada!”

“Sounds like _someone_ missed me,” Draco mused as he strode forward to relieve Cassie of her son, and when he sat next to her, she leant into his side with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah I think everyone within a fifty-mile radius heard how much he effing missed you...” she muttered, and Draco chuckled softly.

“You and he just aren't used to crowds like this—at least, not how you used to. It's not really all that shocking that Davin would get fussy. Though had I known he'd screech like that, I would have chosen a spot where I could come give you a hand more easily...”

“—don't be stupid,” she interrupted, “this was your day for you to get recognized for all the good you've done. I don't want to take away from—”

“—now who's being stupid?” Draco cut in with one of his self-satisfied smirks, “we're married—to each other, last I checked. Which means we're in this together; it means you don't have to be alone; and it means that I can be your strength when you need to rest. I may not be his father by blood, but I _do_ intend on being there for him— _and you—_ as much as I can, and as much as you'll let me.”

Cassie stopped and straightened up to stare at Draco. He hadn't been looking at Cassie as he spoke, his full attention instead on the child in his lap. Davin was squealing and giggling delightedly, a polar opposite of how he'd been barely twenty minutes earlier.

What surprised Cassie more than the statement itself however, was the matter-of-fact tone in which Draco had said it. He made it clear that he was not looking for praise by saying such a thing, he was stating a simple fact—a marriage is a partnership, and that meant that she could trust that Draco would be there when she needed him.

“Come on,” Draco said suddenly, drawing her from her thoughts as he brushed his lips over hers in a light kiss, “let's go home. You look exhausted.”

 

_Home._

 

“I like that idea,” she replied, and with Davin perched in Draco's arms, the couple walked from the garden and its ongoing festivities and to where the Portkeys had been laid out at the side of the house.

Cassie wrapped one arm around Draco's waist, his own hands busy with holding their son, and she took hold of one of the complimentary teacups.

As she felt the telltale pull behind her navel, paired with the swirling transportative magic around them, she couldn't help but smile indulgently.

Voldemort had tried to take everything from her—her identity, her heart, her soul.

And in doing so, she realized, her greatest enemy had inadvertently given her the one thing that she had always wanted—a family to call her own.

Their feet slammed into the hard-packed ground of the safe house's property, and despite the initial purpose it was used for, now to Cassie it felt like home.

“I'll put him down,” Draco said softly as they crossed the front garden and headed inside. Davin was clinging to him quietly, his chubby cheek pressed against Draco's shoulder. He looked as though the Portkey trip hadn't bothered him at all. “Can you get our tea?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Cassie replied in the same soft tone as she kicked off her heels. Instead of heading straight off to their room, Draco swept in and kissed her softly, and she felt her heartbeat quicken a little from the tenderness of the kiss.

“You did really well today, Cassie,” Draco murmured softly, “I'm so proud of you.”

“I didn't really _do_ anything,” she replied, a faint flush dusting her cheeks, “I just...drove everyone mental with my fussy, screaming kid.”

“It's hardly like you were the only parent there,” Draco said with a dismissive wave of his free hand, “they understand what kids are like, so don't think on it. Now I'll put him down, you get our tea. I think we could both do with one after today.”

Cassie wasn't certain she believed Draco's reassurance, but she wasn't keen to debate the subject with him and instead nodded her head, while her husband offered her a small smile before he headed down the hall with the sleepy toddler in his arms.

 

_Her husband._

 

The reminder than she was married hit her again, and she smiled indulgently. It was more than she ever could have hoped for.

Cassie turned, the smile still in place upon her face, and she went about making the tea as she thought back on that special day.

 

~*~

 

“ _The last order of business is the marriage contract and adoption papers,” Draco said after the priestess had closed the circle._

“ _Regular adoption, right? Not that blood thing?” Cassie asked nervously, and Draco nodded at once._

“ _Regular adoption, I promise,” he replied, and Cassie smiled with relief as her husband withdrew the papers, and the new couple signed both with a flourish, before handing them off to Hermione, their official witness. She signed them as well, and both documents rolled up of their own accord and vanished in a puff of purple smoke._

“ _Congratulations,” Draco said with a soft smile, and pecked her lips lightly, “you're officially a Malfoy.”_

“ _Only person in the Universe who'd willingly become a_ Malfoy _...” Ron muttered just loudly enough for Cassie to hear, and she smiled gratefully when Hermione kicked his shin—hard—on her behalf._

“ _More or less,” Lucius remarked as he strode forward, his black cane making no noise against the mossy forest floor. “I suppose you two have a_ reason _for choosing a non-consummation bonding ritual? I've only ever seen celibate monks and the like weave silver into their bands like that.”_

“ _That's private, Father, kindly refrain from interrogating my better half about such things, if you don't mind,” Draco said icily, and Cassie swallowed her amusement behind a neutral mask at Lucius's utter bewilderment at Draco's use of the term,_ better half _. She was also relieved that Draco had cut in, given that she had little desire to discuss her fear of intimacy with Lucius Malfoy, thanks in no small part to how she'd been treated by a certain Dark Lord for five horrific years of her life._

_Lucius grumbled in response to Draco's cold admonishment, but it seemed doubtful that that was the end of it. Thankfully, Narcissa seemed quite keen to defuse the situation before it could get worse._

“ _Welcome to our family, Cassie,” Narcissa said as she stepped up alongside her husband and reached out to close both her hands over one of hers, and the genuine look of welcome in the older woman's eyes helped to ease the tense atmosphere greatly._

“ _Thank you, Mrs Malfoy,” Cassie replied, momentarily stunned at the kind, warm look in the Malfoy matriarch's eyes. For a woman who had always struck Cassie as cold, haughty, and generally emotionless, it was a little strange to see such a maternal expression upon her face._

_Narcissa opened her mouth to speak again, but at that same moment Davin let out a disgruntled little whine, which effectively broke up the awkward conversation._

“ _Mama,” he said from his perch in Hermione's arms, and he reached for Cassie, only to whine again when he realized that he could not reach her._

“ _Oh, come here, you,” she said, and scooped up her son, and he linked his tiny arms around her neck immediately. He let out another whine, and dropped his head against her shoulder._

“ _I think someone's had enough excitement for one day,” Draco remarked with a soft chuckle as he closed the distance between himself and Cassie, and reached up to stroke Davin's messy, flyaway hair. “Father, perhaps we can come round for tea soon, and you may meet your grandson properly.”_

“ _Grandson in name,” he replied sourly, but appeared completely unruffled by the five glares he received at these words._

“ _He's still your grandson,” Draco replied coldly, “and if I ever hear you say something like that again, you will not see me, or my family. Am I clear?”_

_Lucius grumbled under his breath, but Narcissa silenced him with another glare._

“ _You take your boys home, Cassie,” Narcissa said kindly, “I look forward to meeting my grandson at a later time. He is a Malfoy now, and if this war has taught us anything, it is that you needn't be bound to us by blood to prove that you're family.”_

 

_~*~_

 

Draco returned just as Cassie finished laying out the tea tray, and he beamed at her as he fell gracelessly onto the sofa, and let out a soft groan. She joined him and rested her head against his shoulder, while he draped an arm around her shoulders.

“Who knew all that Pomp and Circumstance would be so exhausting...” she said, and Draco chuckled a little.

“I'm sure Davin's fussing didn't make it any easier, although I _did_ catch that touching scene with the Lupin boy...”

“Remus wanted to help,” she muttered as she shifted closer to Draco, “I was so beyond stressed I was kind of rude to him...”

“I'm sure he understands,” Draco replied reasonably, “he's a parent too, he'll know better than others what it's like. I doubt he'll hold it against you.”

“He wants to get to know Davin, and so does your mum, and Hermione...” Cassie trailed off with a heavy sigh. “I'm just...so scared for him. What if they're unkind to him? What if they tell him about his father before I'm able to explain it all properly? What if he gets hurt? What if—”

Draco silenced her string of worries with a kiss, and after her surprise at the sudden show of affection had subsided, she closed her eyes and kissed him back. Quietly, she marvelled at how something as simple as a _kiss_ could ease her mind, if only for a little while.

“Lupin, Granger, and my mother are hardly people you need to worry about where Davin is concerned. He's an endearing little boy, and they would never do anything to hurt him—of this I am certain,” Draco said softly while he stroked Cassie's short hair. “Getting back into the world will be hard—for all of us—but like everything you've accomplished these past months, you _can_ do it. I know you don't think that you can, but I believe in you, Cassie. I know you'll one day be able to walk down the street without fear for yourself or for Davin. Like everything else, it just may take some time.”

“Everything takes _time_...” she mumbled sullenly, and Draco chuckled softly.

“One thing that's not changed, you're still as impatient as ever.”

“Probably the only bit of me that's still _Harry Potter_ ,” she remarked, and Draco laughed again.

“I dunno, you're still something of a magnet for trouble...”

“ _God_ , I hope that's not true,” she muttered, and leant in to kiss her husband, “I've had enough trouble to last me a lifetime.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I asked around a lot for the scene with Teddy and Remus towards the middle/end of the chapter, because when it comes to tough subjects like these, first and foremost I want it to be represented realistically. The responses on how a new mum would react to a stranger to her kid offering to help like that were really split, and I opted for how I depicted it because it seemed more realistic for this variation of Harry Potter's character.


	11. Part XI: Life Goes On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: S/O to reader DarkInuFan for making me realize that I needed one more chapter to wrap this thing up, and for taking the time to write out a positively delightful little scene in the comments of the previous chapter, and I've gone back to reread it multiple times because of how damn cute it is. <3 Thanks, this one's for you.
> 
> Note: Any misspellings in Teddy's dialogue bits are deliberate to signify little-kid mispronunciations.

Part XI: Life Goes On

 

Cassie sat in front her vanity, her elbows propped on the tabletop and head cradled in her hands as she studied her face.

In many ways, Cassie looked the same as she had for the past six years—a muddled confusion of her original face overlaid with the changes that Voldemort had made to it. Bright green eyes framed by long dark lashes, pouty lips, an angular bone structure of her original face, softened and feminized, and a fair, unblemished complexion, though a little more tanned than it used to be, now that she was no longer imprisoned inside a fortress-like manor.

Her hair was brushed away from her face, the thick, dark curls lazily styled but still attractively so, and she trapped her bottom lip between her teeth as she looked on.

A pair of arms encircled her from behind, and Cassie watched in the mirror as Draco propped his head on her shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked gently, while she eased back into the embrace.

“Us, our little family, the future...lots of things,” she replied with a vague shrug, “I never thought I'd live this long, or have this much...”

“...much what?” he asked, and offered her shoulders a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“Just...so _much_. A child, a husband, a—a _family_. It's more than I had ever dreamed of,” Cassie explained, “I guess I'm feeling a little overwhelmed, I mean, the war is over, the memorials and award ceremonies are finished with, and now...”

“...and now we just live our lives,” Draco finished for her, letting her go to sit alongside her on the vanity's bench, and she turned to him and took his hands. Cassie's gaze dropped to their intertwined fingers, and smiled faintly at the glinting silver and gold that she saw there.

“Is it weird that I find that sort of terrifying?” Cassie asked at last as she lifted her gaze to his, and Draco's mouth twitched into a small, amused smirk.

“I'd be more worried if you felt completely normal,” Draco replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “to say you've been through a lot would be putting it mildly.”

“You're not wrong,” Cassie said as she dropped her gaze again. She hated how overwhelmed she felt by everything, how, despite all outward appearances, she still felt like a mess. “What if—what if I can't do it?”

“Do what, exactly?”

“ _It,_ ” Cassie emphasized, her voice just shy of true panic, “live my life, raise my child, be everything you need, be everything that _Davin_ needs, see my friends, find a job, all of that. What if I can't—”

Draco cut off her string of worries with a kiss.

He cupped her face in his hands, and her eyes slid shut as everything seemed to go still—except her heart, which seemed to beat faster at her husband's close proximity—and definitely not from fear.

“You're panicking, Cassie,” Draco murmured against her mouth, “it's okay—it's normal. Everyone gets overwhelmed by life sometimes, even those who haven't gone through what you have.”

“How am I supposed to do anything at all if I get freaked out so easily?” she asked miserably, “how can I live my life if I'm this...messed up?”

“We'll do what everyone else does,” Draco replied, his voice still very soft, “we will take one crisis at a time, and deal with it _together_ , without the aid of mystical prophecies or meddling headmasters or mad dark lords. Just us, and our lives, and whatever comes of that, yeah?”

“Yeah...yeah, I like that,” Cassie replied, and shifted forward to embrace him tightly, Draco, apparently startled by her actions, froze for a half-beat before he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close.

“Do you want me to cancel today's visit with Teddy and Remus?” Draco asked softly, “if you're having something of an existential crisis, do you really want to do this?”

“No, don't cancel,” Cassie replied at once, sniffling a little as she got a handle on her raging emotions, “According to Remus, Teddy's been chattering nonstop about visiting us, and I wouldn't want to disappoint him. I'm okay.”

Draco raised his eyebrows as though he didn't believe her.

“ _Really,_ ” she said to emphasize the point, “I'm fine.”

Draco's expression of disbelief did not change, but he offered up no more protest as he shrugged his shoulders lightly, and leant in to kiss her one last time before he got up and left her to her musings in peace.

Cassie turned back to the mirror, and instead of brooding, she drew her makeup kit forward, and began to ready herself for the day ahead.

 

~*~

 

At exactly four in the afternoon, after Cassie and Draco had spent the better part of the morning trying to make the dilapidated little safe house presentable, though there was little that could be done about the sagging furniture and scent of rotted wood that never completely went away.

Between the pair of them, they had managed to put together a nice little spread of roast beef sandwiches and tea (and pumpkin juice for Teddy) and the flurry of activity had helped to distract Cassie from her nerves quite effectively.

That was, until there was a knock on the door.

“How do I look?” Cassie asked nervously as she smoothed her hands over her outfit—a simple black-on-black ensemble of a tank top and matching jeans.

Draco smiled at her, and reached forward to adjust the way the top sat on her chest, concealing the edge of her bra, and she felt herself flush.

“One would think after nearly _six_ years, you would have grown accustomed to keeping your clothing _over_ your bra,” he teased, and her pink cheeks deepened to red.

She had no idea what she could say to that, and instead she hurried over to the door, where she took one last breath to steel herself for whatever was to come, and opened the door.

The first thing that greeted her was not Remus, but a pair of child's legs and a pile of toys.

“I brought stuff!” Teddy chirped from behind the stack of stuffed animals, plastic action figures, and other toys, an even mixture of muggle and wizarding items all jumbled together. “I'm gonna teach Davin how to play right!”

“I can see that,” Cassie replied with a laugh, “I'm sure he'll be thrilled. He's sleeping right now, but he'll be up soon. You can go put the toys down in the sitting room if you like.”

“Okay!” Teddy replied, and without another word, he darted off.

“If you must know, his pile of things to bring was twice that size before we left,” Remus said as he crossed the threshold into the little house, “I'm afraid that between myself, Molly, and Andromeda, we've all overcompensated a little where toys for Teddy are concerned.”

“I doubt that that's really a bad thing,” Cassie replied as she shut the door behind him, “he's a good boy, when he's not climbing on tables anyway. I doubt you need to worry about him growing up into a spoiled brat like my husband.”

“ _I heard that!_ ”

Both Cassie and Remus laughed at Draco's irritated bark as he strode out to the main area of the house, with Davin, refreshed from his nap, perched in his arms. “Some thanks I get for waking up your son. He's always a right terror right after his nap.”

“I love how when he's fussing he's _my_ son,” she teased as she accepted the toddler from Draco, and as one she, her husband, and Remus headed for the sitting room.

Despite her nerves, Cassie found that their visit with Remus was much less stressful than the first visit with Hermione and Ron had been. This was thanks to the fact that Remus did not seem compelled to glance at her chest every thirty seconds like Ron had, and instead kept his eyes respectfully focused on her face at all times. The other half of the comfortable atmosphere of the visit was thanks to Teddy, who seemed quite keen to show Davin every single toy he had brought.

“This is a bad guy,” Teddy explained as he held out the plastic skeleton figure, shrouded in a cloak, to Davin. Wide-eyed, he closed his pudgy little hand over the figurine, and promptly stuck its head in his mouth.

“No, no, no!” Teddy said quickly before Cassie could intervene, and reached out to tug it gently from Davin's mouth. “You make him fight the good guy...this one.” he held out another plastic figure, this one a blond, burly man in some sort of iron underwear by the look of it, and brandishing a plastic broadsword. Davin took the other in his opposite hand, and banged them together a few times, which caused Teddy to cheer excitedly.

“He seems to prefer the muggle toys over the wizarding ones,” Draco observed over his teacup, and Remus smiled sadly.

“He grew up without me,” Remus said, his voice laced with guilt, “and he was raised by muggles. It's only natural that he'd gravitate more towards what he's accustomed to.”

“Does he still see his adoptive parents?” Cassie asked, and Remus nodded his head while a neutral mask slid into place upon his face.

“Dorothea and Richard Cunningham. Good people. He grew up loved and cared for. We have an...arrangement, of sorts. Teddy spends a few days with me, and a few days with them. I would have liked to take him back straightaway, but I didn't want to take him away from the people who raised him, and everything that he had known. The shock would have been too much for him, and it wouldn't have been fair to Teddy or his adoptive parents.”

“And you've told him about Tonks and everything?” she continued, and again Remus nodded tightly.

“No secrets. I grew up with secrets and lies, and I don't want to do that to him,” Remus replied while he gazed past Cassie over to his son, who was now patiently showing Davin his wide collection of stuffed animals that he'd brought along.

“Even your...er...” Cassie trailed off and glanced towards Davin and Teddy, who was staring wide-eyed at the stuffed giraffe that the older boy held. Neither of them seemed to be even remotely interested in what the adults were saying. “Even your _little furry problem_?”

“That's a bit more of a complicated topic,” Remus replied with a small grimace, “he's still entering our world, and I don't want to scare him.

“That would be a bit of a contradiction to your _no secrets_ policy _,_ would it not?” Draco asked mildly, and Remus frowned at him.

“It's a complicated situation,” Remus repeated stiffly, and when Draco opened his mouth to pose another question, Cassie laid his hand over his in a silent plea for him to let it go. He appeared somewhat irritated by this, but nodded nonetheless.

“Erm, and what have you told him about...well, me?” Cassie asked nervously in an attempt to steer the conversation away from Remus's personal matters, and winced at how self-involved the question sounded.

“Nothing at all,” Remus replied with an apologetic frown, “I wasn't certain exactly _how_ to address you, so I haven't brought it up yet. He knows all about his godfather, of course, but how do I explain that his godfather is also his godmother?”

“Kids are remarkably resilient, and do not carry many of the prejudices that we do,” Draco pointed out, and Remus nodded in agreement.

“This is true,” Remus agreed, “but...” he trailed off and regarded Cassie with concern. She could see the question residing in his eyes—the same ones that Hermione and Ron had asked her the first time they'd seen her following everything, and privately she wondered just _how many_ times she'd have to go over this in the months and years to come.

“A lot of what happened to me, though awful, did help me to figure out who I am,” Cassie said nervously, her eyes flicking frequently to the two kids as she spoke. Teddy seemed positively transported by the toddler in front of him, and Cassie found herself quietly amazed at the boy's apparently endless patience in teaching her son 'how to play'. She turned back to Remus, who was watching her curiously. “After it was all over, I felt...well... _lost_. Confused. Scared. It was Draco who put me back together again and pointed out that I needn't choose between Harry and Cassiopeia, but I could be both, and still be _me_.”

At first, Remus did not verbally reply to Cassie's words, but seemed to mouth the names _Harry_ and _Cassiopeia_ under his breath, as though only just realizing that it was a mixture of the two names. It was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence before he actually spoke again.

“So _Auntie Cassie_ would be appropriate, then?” he asked with a small smile, and relieved at the casual response, she nodded.

 

The afternoon pressed on, with Remus filling Cassie in on the various goings-on in his life and the lives of their friends, and the casual hints that told her that Remus clearly believed that she should _come clean_ , as it were, to the others. It was clear that he would not push her towards telling them, nor would he tell them on her behalf, but it was obvious that he didn't think it fair to let everyone assume that she was dead.

“It's too risky,” she said for what felt like the tenth time as she cast her gaze over to her son. “Because of his parentage...what if someone thinks that he'll be the next...Dark Lord?” she shivered at the idea of _anyone_ trying to take her son from her. “I won't let that happen—I _won't_ let anyone hurt him. He means more to me than...than anything.”

“Surely you understand _that_ ,” Draco added with a small frown, “certainly there are those who would want Teddy taken from you because of...what you are. The situation is similar.”

“I'm sorry, Cassie,” Remus said quickly as he too glanced over to where their children were playing, in time to see Teddy throw his arms around Davin in something of a bear hug, which the toddler barely reacted to, far too busy staring at the toy car that he currently held aloft in his hands.

Cassie beamed at Teddy's enthusiasm, and then turned back to Remus who truly _did_ look sorry for not seeing the danger of what might happen of Davin was 'outed'.

“I hadn't thought about it that way,” Remus continued, his gaze not leaving the boys, “yes, especially right now in the post-war mania, it's entirely possible that someone would jump to that conclusion.”

“Exactly,” Cassie replied, her shoulders sagging a little with relief. Remus smiled faintly, the expression bordering between apologetic and reassuring, and they moved on to other, less serious topics.

 

Despite how nervous Cassie had been for the visit, she was amazed at how fast the time flew by, and how _normal_ it all felt to sit with Remus and chat as though nothing had changed. Evening had fallen around them, and Draco insisted that Remus and Teddy stay for dinner before Cassie had even a chance to offer, and Teddy acted as though he'd been offered a trip to Italy.

“Can we sleep over, too?” Teddy asked excitedly, “I can be Davin's daddy while you two wrestle.”

Cassie choked on the biscuit she'd been biting into, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco inhale, rather than drink his tea.

“While we _what?_ ” she rasped, while Remus looked away from the scene, his lips pressed into a thin line and his jaw muscles twitching, as though he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Wrestle,” Teddy said again, blinking bemusedly as though it were obvious. “Once I had a bad dream and went to Mum and Other Dad's room, and they were naked and wrestling. Mummy said it was nighttime wrestling for grownups.”

“I—I see,” Cassie replied between hacking coughs, and thankfully, Remus chose that moment to rescue them.

“Maybe some other time, Teddy,” he said gently, “this house is a bit small for five people to spend the night in.”

“Oh,” Teddy replied, frowning a little, “but we can still have dinner here, right?”

“Sure,” Cassie replied with a short laugh, and taking a stab in the dark, seeing how taken Teddy seemed to be with Davin, she added, “you can help me feed Davin, if you like.”

Teddy's face immediately brightened, and that was all the answer that Cassie needed.

 

~*~

 

Dinner was far from a formal affair, and over plates of beef casserole, Teddy sat on his father's knee, and fed his new best friend tiny spoonfuls of strained peas with the guidance of Remus and Cassie nearby.

Solid food was a new thing for Davin, and most dinnertimes were spent with more food _on_ her son rather than ingested. But for whatever reason, Davin watched Teddy with wide-eyed fascination, and accepted spoonfuls of the peas from Teddy as he ate more politely than Cassie had ever seen.

 

“That kid's got the magic touch, I swear,” Cassie said later as they both carried the used dishes to the tiny kitchen, and dug out some biscuits for pudding. “I've _never_ seen him eat so nicely before.”

“Am I to assume that means you'll be inviting those two over for dinner more often?” Draco teased, and Cassie smirked a little at him.

“If it means I can go a day without a facial of puréed vegetables, then I'd let Teddy come round _all_ the time,” she replied with a short laugh.

“It sounds like we'll be needing a bigger house,” Draco teased as they brought out the after-dinner treats for themselves and Teddy, and Cassie laughed.

“Yeah, wouldn't _that_ be something.”

 

As Remus was reluctantly allowing Teddy his fourth biscuit, but warned that it would be his _last_ one (which Cassie doubted, given that he'd also said that about Teddy's third biscuit) she announced that she needed to put Davin to bed.

“Can I help?” Teddy asked brightly, and with a chorus of warm, good-natured laughs, she scooped her son up, while Teddy trailed behind her.

Cassie's little violet-haired shadow toddled along with her as she went to the bedroom she still shared with both Draco and her son, checked his diaper and changed him into his pyjamas, and used a tricky little charm that one of her baby books contained to gently clean his mouth out. Teddy watched it all with an expression of wonder upon his face, until she sat down on the edge of the bed and patted next to her.

Teddy climbed up without question, and even without her usual soothing lead-up to putting Davin to bed, already he was yawning, presumably worn out from the flurry of activity that day.

“Want to say goodnight to him, Teddy?” she asked in a soft voice while she rubbed her son's back, and Teddy hesitated a little before leaning in to kiss Davin's chubby baby cheek, and mimicked Cassie's hand motions on his back.

“Night night, Davin, have good sleeps,” he whispered, then before Cassie could blink, he jumped up and darted over to the ajar wardrobe, and closed it quietly. He turned back to Cassie with a proud smile as he went back over to them, and watched as Cassie carefully lowered him into his bassinet. “I closed the wahdrobe so no monsters will get you,” Teddy whispered to the toddler, and he stared up as them both with a bemused, but drowsy expression. “I'll protect you when your mummy's busy, Davin, don't worry.”

“Come on,” she murmured to Teddy, and rested a hand on his shoulder, “let's let him sleep, all right?”

Teddy nodded and followed her out, she casting the Baby-Monitoring Charm before closing the door behind them, and they headed back down the short hall to were the others were waiting.

“Missus Cassie?” Teddy said, and Cassie blinked at him.

“ _Missus_?” she echoed, and Teddy looked up at her with equal confusion.

“My mum said it's only polite to call older people Missus or Mister,” he explained simply.

“Well...don't call me Missus Cassie, you make me sound like an old mare,” she said with a short laugh, and the minor unease she saw in Teddy's eyes vanished at the sound of her light tone. “Just call me Cassie, all right?”

“M'kay,” Teddy replied, “but, I have a question.”

“What's your question?”

“Well...last time I saw your baby his eyes was greem,” Teddy explained, “and now they're red. Is he like me? Can he change his face?”

“No, Teddy, he's not,” she replied in as even a tone as she could manage. Like Remus she did not want to _lie_ to Teddy, but at nearly six years old, he wouldn't completely grasp it, either. “We changed his eye colour just for that day because...because, er, a bad man that made a lot of people very scared had the same eye colour as Davin does. We didn't want people getting scared and thinking Davin was like him. D'you understand?”

“Was that Volmedort?” Teddy asked, apparently unaware of his mispronunciation. “My daddy said that that was why he sended me away, to keep the bad man from getting me.”

“Yeah,” Cassie replied, relaxing a little, “that's him. He's gone now, but people are still very scared, and sometimes people who are scared do bad things, even if they don't mean to.”

“Mum yelled at me once 'cause I let go of her hand at the Market and got losted,” Teddy said thoughtfully, “she said she was worried, but she yelled at me. Is it like that?”

“Sort of,” Cassie answered, and reached down to squeeze his little shoulder. “C'mon, let's get back to the others, yeah?”

“Okay.”

 

~*~

 

A little over an hour later, Cassie and Draco stood in their front garden, hand in hand as they watched Teddy and Remus take a Portkey home. It was twilight, the sky a deep indigo, and the trees around them were like shadows against the sky. Cassie lifted her hand in a half-wave as the father and son disappeared, and when the dust settled, Cassie found herself shocked that she did not feel more worn out by the visit.

Draco let go of Cassie's hand, and moved to her back, where he wrapped his arms around her waist. She leant back into the embrace, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as they watched the sky darken above them.

“I've been thinking,” Draco began, and Cassie cut in before he got very far.

“—always a dangerous sign,” she quipped.

“Oi! Shut up and listen,” Draco shot back, though she could hear laughter in his tone. “I've been thinking, this house...it's not really built to be a house to bring up a child in. What do you say to leaving it behind and going somewhere else?”

“But...where would we go?” Cassie asked, and turned her gaze from the sky to the derelict little cabin that had become her home over the last few months.

“Anywhere,” Draco replied. “Of course we don't _have_ to go if you don't want to, but Davin will need his own room soon, and space for him to play with his friends, and I just thought it might be time to leave the last dregs of the war behind and...I don't know, start anew.”

“A new life...” she mused, and her imagination ran wild with images of what the future might hold for her, Draco, and little Davin. Davin's first tooth, Davin learning to walk, learning to fly, going to Hogwarts...

When Cassie paired it with the safe house as a back drop, she could feel a strange sense of depression that weighed on the scenes in her head. The last remnants of the war overshadowing all the joyous moments that were sure to come, and the idea of it made her stomach turn.

Cassie shifted in Draco's arms to study his handsome face in the dying light. Draco Malfoy, who had picked up the pieces of the disaster her life had become, and put them back together all on his own, without help, and with no ulterior motive.

She kissed him, and Draco's arms tensed around her as he returned it.

Life would begin again for her, for Draco—for all of them. It was terrifying, but at the same time thrilling.

No more dark lords.

No more constant fear of death, or fear for the welfare of her child.

Life—and whatever that entailed.

And this time, Cassie found herself looking ahead with hope.

 


	12. Part XII: Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I posted two chapters on this today, so go back to part XI: Life Goes On and read that first! (I know this is sort of obvious, but on occasion when I've posted two chapters at once people have accidentally skipped over one, so I thought I'd point it out juuust in case.)
> 
> Special thanks to KuriQuinn for help with some of the dialogue and the ending lines. If you're into Naruto het, def check her out because she's brilliant.

Part XII: Epilogue

 

**Seventeen Years Later**

 

A quaint house in the countryside sat alone, its acre of land cutting it off from the potential of pesky, nosy neighbours peering in on them. It had an air of elegance to it, from its cobblestone walkways and meticulously maintained flower and vegetable gardens, to its fine French windows, and expensive outdoor furniture that sat at the back of the house. It was an elegant country house that a couple or family of high class might own, certainly not a chaotic house full of rambunctious children.

Inside however, the illusion was utterly shattered.

“ _Mum! Mum! Muuuuuuum!_ ”

A little girl, barely ten years old, with vibrant green eyes and white-blonde hair came barrelling into the sitting room, and Cassie hissed a curse as she spilled her tea all over herself.

“Lily, you don't need to shout,” she said to her daughter, but Lily did not appear bothered by the reprimand. “What is so important?”

“Father told me to go and get Davin and Teddy, 'cause dinner's almost ready,” she said, her eyes wide.

“Okay, that's nothing new, Davin and Teddy are friends, why is this such an international cris—”

“—no, Mum, you don't understand. They were _kissing!_ ”

“...they were what?”

“I walked in to tell them that dinner was on, and they were _all over each other!_ Like proper kissing and everything!”

“How would _you_ know what proper kissing is?” A sneering voice cut in, and Lily's twin, Scorpius, who looked the same as Lily in every aspect except for his eyes, which were a silvery grey. He sauntered into the room, his arms crossed, and head held high in clear imitation of Draco. “You're just a kid.”

“I'm the same age as you!” Lily protested, but before the argument could go further, Davin made an appearance, his face flushed and eyes wide. He was holding hands with Teddy, and both of them looked very embarrassed. Cassie arched an eyebrow at her son, and his flush deepened as he glared at his little sister.

“You little snitch! You told, didn't you?”

“You didn't seriously think The Informant would keep that bit of gossip to herself, did you?” Cassie asked, and Lily scowled.

“I hate that nickname,” she grumbled.

“If you hate it so much, then stop being such a bloody tattletale.”

“ _Language,_ Davin,” Cassie admonished, but he appeared to irritated to care much. “Scorpius, Lily, go tell your father we'll be there in a moment, I need to talk to your brother alone.”

Davin blanched, and Teddy casually let go of his hand.

“I'll just—” Teddy began, but Cassie quickly interrupted him.

“— _don't_ move.” Teddy froze at the command, and looked very nervous while the two younger kids scampered quickly from the room.

Cassie stood up, dispelling the tea stain from her clothing as she approached her eldest son and her godson. Davin had grown up into a handsome young man, his physical features such a blur of Tom Riddle and herself that had it not been for his garnet eyes, she would have completely forgotten who his birth father had been. He was now a full head taller than she was, but still regarded her with a muddled look of respect and fear.

Beyond just being handsome, Davin had finished Hogwarts the previous June with honours, and had already landed a position at St Mungo's as a Trainee Healer. He wanted to help people, and that was about as far from Tom Riddle as he could possibly get. Cassie was deeply relieved—it had been difficult during those first few years of school to not fear the worst when her eldest son had been sorted into Slytherin, and not Gryffindor.

Not that Davin knew that—Cassie had done everything she could to ensure that her boy had grown up loved and supported, and she liked to think that she had managed it.

As Cassie stood there and surveyed the two boys, her arms crossed, and her expression neutral, she let them stew in their panic for a few moments before she finally spoke.

“How long has this been going on?” she asked, and her neutral tone did nothing to alleviate the fearful looks on the faces of the two young men.

“Er...about a month or so,” Davin said to his shoes.

“Teddy?” she prompted, and he bit his lip, looking nervous.

“Yeah, officially, it's only been about a month,” he confirmed, “are—are you gonna tell my dad?”

Cassie bit the inside of her cheek, certain that the two young adults would not appreciate her laughter. Teddy's nervousness was hardly unwarranted—the only person that Cassie knew who was a worse overprotective parent than herself was Remus, after all.

“You're both adults, what you do and who you choose to be with isn't our business anymore,” Cassie said at last, and she saw him sag with relief. “ _But_ you two were caught by the family tattletale. It's very likely that it'll take Lily about three seconds to blurt it out when she sees her Uncle Remus next. You may want to let him know before that happens.”

“So...so you're okay with it?” Davin asked uncertainly, while he took Teddy's hand again. Cassie smiled.

“Let's just say...it's not too surprising,” she said simply, and both Teddy and Davin looked as though they couldn't work out whether or not this was a bad thing. “Davin, go to dinner, I'd like to talk to Teddy alone for a moment.”

“Oh, um, all right...” Davin let go of Teddy's hand with a look of uncertainty in his eyes, and with one backwards glance, he headed for the dining room.

“Cassie—” Teddy began, and Cassie held up a hand to silence him.

“I don't want to hear it,” she said simply, her tone firm, “I have no issues with you seeing my son, you're both adults, and I trust you to be good to him. But remember this, Theodore Remus Lupin: Davin is my son, my eldest, and I made him out of my blood, my sweat, my flesh, and my tears. And love him more than the waking world, _but_ I will smother him in his sleep before I let him get his heart broken by anyone, least of all _you_. Is that in any way _not_ clear?”

“We're clear,” Teddy replied at once, his mouth twitching into a small smile, “I feel very clear.”

“Good, then let's not keep the others waiting,” she said, her tone softening from firm to her usual pleasant one, “come on.”

Cassie led her godson out of the front room and into the dining room, where Draco was doling out lamb stew for the kids, a sour look on his face.

“I win,” Cassie said softly to her husband before she sat down, and his frown deepened, but in the presence of his Davin and his boyfriend, he didn't say anything. This was likely a good thing, as Cassie doubted that Davin would appreciate learning that his parents had been taking bets on whether or not he and Teddy had actually been dating, or were just _very_ close.

“Shut up,” he muttered, and she met the remark with a wide grin.

 

Dinner passed by as so many other family dinners before them had, with enthused chatter from the twins, Davin ignoring his family in favour of talking to Teddy (which was much more significant now that they knew the truth). Both Draco and Cassie surveying their little family quietly, both parents wearing similar indulgent smiles upon their faces, more keen to watch, rather than engage.

Never in her early life, as Harry, or Cassiopeia, and or even as _Cassie_ had she ever envisioned such a scene—such _normalcy_. It was a greater gift than she could have ever hoped for, and she still marvelled at the fact that it was Draco Malfoy, her former rival, who had given her such a gift.

The rest of the evening passed with the same ambient atmosphere as Cassie had grown accustomed to—except Lily had decided to pester her older brother with half a dozen questions about his relationship with Teddy.

“Are you two gonna get married now?” she asked.

“It's none of your business,” Davin replied, and glared at her, but she was undeterred.

“Are you two gonna kiss _all the time_ like Aunt Ginny and Uncle Dean do?”

“It's none of your business, now knock it off,” Davin snapped, his cheeks flaring at the mention of his aunt and uncle.

“Are you two gonna sleep in the same bed like Mum and Dad do?”

“Well—” Teddy cut in, and Davin elbowed him.

“I rather think that's between Davin and Teddy,” Draco cut in, “leave them alone, Lily.”

“But—”

“—no, now stop badgering them.”

“You're no fun,” Cassie murmured when Lily shuffled off sulkily, though Davin looked deeply relieved. “You took away my evening entertainment.”

“It worries me a little how much you enjoy embarrassing your eldest,” Draco replied, and Cassie shrugged as Davin and Teddy mumbled something about going back to Davin's room. She let them go without comment—it wasn't like she needed to worry about one of them getting accidentally pregnant.

“It's the harmless teasing I enjoy,” Cassie replied with a small smile, “if it was anything serious I'd put a stop to it, you know that.”

Draco wrapped his arms around her, and she leant into the embrace. It was warm, familiar, and Cassie felt certain that she'd never tire of it.

“You're a good mum,” Draco said, and kissed her cheek.

“And you're a good dad,” she replied, “if a bit on the _no fun_ side of it.”

“Someone has to keep the peace around here...” he replied with a small shake of his head. “Excuse me if I'm not one to enjoy chaos.”

As if on cue, a high scream, followed by a loud _thump_ sounded from upstairs. Both parents groaned, and Draco forced himself up to see what had happened. Cassie watched him go, her smile never wavering as the low thrum of Draco's voice sounded from upstairs. Given that she could hear no crying, she had to assume that the twins were using their bunk beds as a jungle gym again.

The smile of amusement never leaving her face, Cassie eased back against the sofa, and enjoyed the momentary peace and quiet, certain that it was unlikely to last very long.

 

~*~

 

That night, as the couple prepared for bed after ensuring that their troublemaker twins were asleep, Cassie all but fell into bed with a heavy sigh. Draco slid into bed more elegantly than she had, and she immediately closed the distance between them. Draco held her close, and she pillowed her cheek against his shoulder.

“It never ceases to amaze me just how much trouble those two little buggers can get into in the span of just a few hours...” she mumbled, while Draco none-too-casually traced the neckline of her tank top, and she giggled a little at his complete lack of subtlety.

“They _must_ be related to you,” Draco replied, and she laughed again, while his hand ran down her side to rest at her hip.

“I think the fact that I carried them around for nine months certifies that they're actually mine,” she replied, and Draco chuckled softly, his breath tickling the side of her neck.

“And then there's always the fact that they get more and more like you every day,” Draco added as he leant in to brush a gentle kiss against her cheekbone.

“You mean more attractive, funny, and devilishly charming?”

“No,” Draco countered with a chuckle, and kissed her lightly, “they're driving me mad.”

Cassie giggled and gave his shoulder a small shove, and Draco smirked, not reacting to the push, but as they settled back down, a thoughtful look crossed his face.

“Something on your mind?”

“Oh, it's nothing,” Draco replied mildly, “it's just something that I've always wondered...”

“Hmm?”

“Why is it that you let me name Scorpius?” Draco asked, and Cassie blinked in surprise.

“It's taken you ten years to ask this question...why?”

“I'd say it's more of a curiosity, rather than a genuine question,” Draco replied with a small shrug, “it's not exactly important, but I _have_ always wondered. I'd always assumed you'd want to name one of your boys after your father, that's all.”

Draco's hand slid under the hem of her top as he spoke and ghosted along her abdomen. The tickling sensation causing her to suck her stomach in, and a tiny smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth, clearly pleased with the reaction his light touch had caused.

“It hardly seems fair that I'd get to name _all_ our kids,” Cassie replied, her voice quivering a little from Draco's distracting wandering hand. Her husband' smirk widened, and he shifted a little so that he was lying on his side, while she lay next to him on her back. While she spoke, Draco continued to trace his fingers lightly over her stomach. “If we happen to have another kid I'd probably want to name him James, but I can honour my lost loved ones in more ways than just having their names live on, you know?”

“I know,” Draco replied, licking his lips before he leant in to kiss her. “We're both still young, we could always give it another try...”

As if to emphasize his point, his hand snuck to the waistband of her pyjama bottoms, and teased the elastic with his fingertips. She bit her bottom lip to stifle a grin of amusement as Draco continued to dip his fingertips in and out of the elastic teasingly.

“I didn't mean _right now_ ,” she replied with a short laugh, and moved to kiss him again. This time it was not a simple peck, but a slow, languid kiss. Cassie arched up a little to brush her palm across his cheek, prickly with evening stubble, and he used his tongue to part her lips, which she accepted readily, and shivered a little as Draco's hand properly slipped beneath the elastic of her pyjama bottoms and lightly traced her slit, causing her to shiver with budding arousal. “But...we could always practice for it, if you want,” she breathed as she broke the kiss, and bit her lip to stifle a moan as Draco continued his gentle ministrations upon her.

“You know what they say,” Draco murmured as he kissed her again, “practice makes perfect.”

Cassie laughed again, and with a smile she kissed her husband back, then he fell back onto the bed, Draco casting the appropriate silencing charms as they hastily shedding their bottom clothing before clambered on top of him.

In the years that had passed between their first time and this moment, Cassie still could not help but marvel at how _good_ it felt to be with Draco like this. This, Cassie had realized, was how sex was _supposed_ to feel—wonderful, pleasurable, and leave her with a feeling of peaceful joy, not shame.

Cassie sank down onto Draco's flagging erection with a blissful sigh. Draco grunted beneath her, his hands falling to her hips and guiding her movements. She lifted herself up, and dropped down onto him again, they both shuddering as soft, gasping moans and grunts escaped them in equal measure, while beneath her Draco rocked his hips to follow her movements.

Draco grunted once, a soft keening moan following the sound as his hands tensed on her hips, and she felt him release deep inside her. Cassie kept moving, panting hard as she sought out her own release, and came with a trembling moan, her body shaking and legs twitching as she lay down on top of her husband.

Draco wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, and she offered him a drowsy kiss.

“I love that I can enjoy this with you,” she murmured sleepily as she finally pulled herself off him, and with sluggish movements they both pulled back on their pyjama bottoms. “I used to worry that I'd never be able to enjoy sex again after...well, you know.”

“I know,” Draco replied softly, and kissed her again, “it makes me so happy that I can bring you that pleasure, Cassie. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Cassie answered at once, and at the same moment, a sudden rumble of thunder sounded from overhead, and both parents groaned.

Draco flicked his wand to dispel both the silencing charms and the scent of sex in the room, and not a moment too soon as the thunder rumbled again, louder this time. From down the hall, Cassie could hear her eldest son's disgruntled voice speaking to the two younger ones.

“It's _just_ a thunderstorm,” he said, “go away.”

“But it's scary!” piped up Lily, her voice quivering a little, “please can we sleep over in your room?”

“ _No_ ,” he snapped, “go bother Mum and Dad. I'm busy.”

Cassie snorted at Davin's wording, and it was followed by the loud sound of a door slamming. Not long after, she heard the distinct pitter-patter of twin pairs of feet hastening to their room.

Thunder crashed, lightening flashed, and their bedroom door flew open as the twins literally leapt into their bed. Unfortunately, their aim was a little off, and both children landed on top of them heavily.

“There's a thunderstorm,” Lily said at once.

“Yes, I noticed,” Draco grunted as he shifted back, and the twins settled between them.

“Lily was scared,” Scorpius added in his usual haughty tone of voice, though there was a distinct tremor to it, “I came too to make sure that she didn't get lost.”

“You were scared too, you big fibber,” Lily snapped, “besides, I am _so_ much braver than you.”

 

_Crack!_

 

The thunder, now deafening, sounded above them, and with a pair of frightened squeaks, they tugged the duvet over their heads.

“In the morning we're going to have a talk about you two staying in your _own_ beds when there's a thunderstorm outside,” Draco muttered as he eased down, and both of the children seemed to relax when he didn't immediately kick them out of the room.

“Impossible,” Lily mumbled with her head still under the covers, “only you and Mum make thunderstorms not scary.

“Scaredy cat,” Scorpius teased.

“So are you,” Lily shot back.

“I am _not_ ,” Scorpius replied, his voice jumping high in his offence at the remark.

“Are too!” Lily countered.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

“Not.”

“Not.”

“Too,” Scorpius paused after his retort, though still hidden beneath the duvet Cassie could not see his embarrassment at his realization of what he had just said, but she could all but feel it as everyone laughed.

“Come on,” Cassie said in between giggles, as she tugged the blanket down to see the faces of her wide-awake and troublesome twins. “If you're gonna stay in here you're going to sleep, not bicker. Understand?”

“Yes, Mum,” they chorused, and obediently settled down, while both Cassie and Draco draped their arms over them and laced their fingers together, caging the twins in.

It did not take very long for them to fall asleep, despite the continued thunder and lightning strikes that made the windows rattle in their frames. Cassie gazed at Draco over the two little heads, and she saw her amusement reflected back at her in his eyes. Even with their chaos-inducing, troublesome kids between them, Cassie never felt more at peace, and never felt more like like couldn't get more _perfect_. Her hands squeezed Draco's, and he returned the gesture, and once again she felt that perfect, all-encompassing affection that he seemed to reserve only for her.

“Mum?” a tiny, drowsy voice suddenly said, and Cassie dropped her gaze to Lily, who was watching her with one eye cracked open.

“Hm?”

“...I have to pee.”

 

Fin

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Aaaand scene. This fic was supposed to have been 3 parts, it spiralled out of control a teensy bit. Thank you soooo much for reading, this pretty much qualifies as my first-ever foray into het(ish), which I didn't exactly expect to happen, haha. Cassie's threats to Teddy in this chapter are ripped almost word for word from the Starkid musical, The Trail to Oregon. 
> 
> Until next time!  
> xox  
> James

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The lady Cassiopeia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11469609) by [Unbeta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unbeta/pseuds/Unbeta)




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